


The Pilot and the Soldier

by LenoreFrost



Series: The Pilot and the Soldier [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Air Force, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Ass-Kicking, Badass, Bucky Barnes After Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Competence Kink, Dog Tags, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fighter Pilots, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Guns, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Is So Understaffed Right Now, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knives, Mechanics, POV Bucky Barnes, Pilots, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Small Towns, Smut, Soldiers, Veterans, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenoreFrost/pseuds/LenoreFrost
Summary: Bucky Barnes was just trying to focus on getting his brain to recognize his name again while he drove as far from D.C. and Hydra as he could.  It was finally feeling just safe enough to accept that he really needed a beer that had him stopping in a small town bar in Indiana, where a very fierce former fighter pilot named Peyton Lawfley decided to buy him his second beer and put some direction back in his life. One beer became several rounds of beer and shots, which became a place to crash and by the next day, Bucky was sitting in her dad's engine repair garage watching her work and scaring off the guys she was sick of turning down.  Bucky knew he was terrible material for a boyfriend, fake or real, but when he tried to explain that to Peyton, she only gave him that smirk and said, "I'm a pilot.  I see death threats as dares."  True to form and much to Bucky's dismay, every time Peyton learned of one of the terrifying aspects of his life, she not only didn't flinch, she moved in closer, putting herself in very real danger should Hydra find him.  It's hard to do the chivalrous thing and walk away when the girl is insanely beautiful, entirely fearless, and unashamedly into you, though....
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Pilot and the Soldier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801087
Comments: 71
Kudos: 149
Collections: Great stories to reread





	1. To Not Being Soldiers Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hit me out of nowhere and I wasn't going to publish it, at least not right away, because I have so many other works in progress, but then I had 20k in thirty-six hours and that's not something I'm going to ignore. Enjoy!

They were playing the fucking footage from D.C. again and it was grinding his nerves between the gears of his poorly-reassembled mind. He’d risked stopping in this shitty bar in this tiny town because he needed some beer and real food to chase away the thoughts of Hydra and here they were again on the damn tv. Then, the channel switched to a long-distance view of the airfield outside the Triskelion and he watched, heart in his throat, as the quinjets were forcibly grounded one-by-one, by _him._

“For fuck’s sake,” a little blonde with an equally little tank-top said right next to him. She had leaned in to get a fresh beer and stayed when she saw the footage playing. “ _That’s_ the airfield at the Triskelion? If I was going to invest in three stupid helicarriers, you can bet my airfield would be three times that size and better guarded. Fucking SHIELD.”

“What do you know about it, anyway?” he growled at her, his hackles raised right up.

“Well, _I_ was a pilot,” the girl said, turning to face him and tugging on the chain that dipped beneath the very low neckline of her tank-top to reveal a set of dog tags. “Air Force. Top of my class at the academy. It’s in my blood…my dad was a fighter pilot in the Gulf War, my grandpa was naval air force in Korea, and my great-grandpa flew in the European Theatre in World War II. And as a _pilot_ , I’m telling you that I have seen a lot of airfields and that one is garbage.”

Her speech sent a jolt through his system and he completely forgot about D.C. for one beautiful moment. “What’s your name?”

The girl raised an eyebrow and smirked at him. “Peyton Lawfley.” She dropped her tags and extended her right hand expectantly. 

He hesitated, almost long enough to be rude, but shook hands. She had a surprisingly strong grip and now that he was looking at her head-on, he recognized how physically fit she was and the confidence in her stance. Her size and face were completely misleading because the rest of her screamed military. He didn’t recognize the name, Lawfley, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t known her great-grandfather. On that note, being from a military family, one that fought in Europe, no less, there was a good chance she’d know his name. His identity was confusing enough to him, though, and he didn’t have the energy to come up with a fake one on the spot. If he just didn’t use his nickname with her, maybe his real name was innocuous enough. “James Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, James,” Peyton said, her smile not having changed. She hadn’t made the connection. Good.

He released her hand and took a pull from his beer, then asked, “So you said you _were_ a pilot. I didn’t think people ever stopped being pilots.”

Peyton laughed once bitterly and sat down on the stool beside him, her back to the tv. “You’re right, but I’m not Air Force anymore and I can’t get a job flying commercially either, so I’m not getting _paid_ to be a pilot.”

“What do you do?”

“Engine repair.” She snorted and said, “If your check engine light is on, I’m your girl.”

 _I wouldn’t mind you being my girl and it has nothing to do with my car._ He shook off that thought, confused and surprised by it. She was attractive and interesting, but those things hadn’t affected him since…probably 1945. He finished his beer and, a moment later, Peyton finished hers and pointedly slid both their bottles forward along with a ten-dollar bill. “What are you drinking, handsome?” she asked.

Now he snorted at her forwardness, reminded, oddly, of his process of picking up dames a few lifetimes ago. “Whatever you’re drinking.”

Peyton grinned and ordered two local beers. It was a porter, much darker than he would have normally ordered, but very mellow and easy to drink. He gave Peyton an approving nod, then took a second pull. They drank quietly for a few minutes and he kept feeling her eyes on him. Finally, she asked, “So, where did you serve?”

The question completely threw him and he looked to her, hopefully not entirely blowing his cover. “What?”

Peyton was smiling softly, perhaps to convince him not to be intimidated, but her eyes were clear and flicking all over him, picking up tiny details. “You were a soldier too, once, I can see it in your eyes. What branch?”

His heart was in his throat, choking him. He’d been a soldier _twice_ , once for the US Army, who had left him to die twice in two years, and once against his will for enemies of the United States. Depending on where Peyton had flown and what kind of missions she’d run, he might have fought against her or her family members. He struggled for a horrible moment as Peyton’s smile faded and her eyebrows creased in concern. “I see.” She turned her head to make eye contact with the bartender and held up a credit card. “Rick? Open a tab for me and my friend here.” The bartender took the credit card and walked away. During the exchange, he, _Bucky_ , that was his name, had stiffened like a gargoyle, but Peyton just looked to him with that soft concern and held up her beer between them. “No need to talk unless you want to, Barnes. Here’s to not being soldiers anymore.”

He stared at her in surprise at the toast, but clinked beer bottles with her and drank to it. _Here’s to not being soldiers anymore._ He wasn’t a soldier anymore, was he? Soldiers followed orders and the first thing he’d done when he walked away from Hydra was mentally break down as much of his conditioning as he could so he wouldn’t have to follow orders ever again. 

He and Peyton found the bottom of their beers and were on another round before he spoke. “What did you see? When you looked at me like that your face totally changed.”

Peyton’s expression shifted to sadness and disgust. “I saw a POW.” That stunned him. He’d expected her to think he’d worked in black ops, which wasn’t far off-base, or that he’d defected or been dishonorably discharged, which also wasn’t far off-base, or that he’d been a sniper, which was just plain true. But that wasn’t what she’d seen. Peyton sighed and explained, “One of my squadron, Ollie, went down in enemy territory and they wouldn’t let us go back for him. I fought it tooth and nail because I knew that if Ollie was dead, his parents deserved to know for sure and if he was alive, the enemy would find him and torture him. But we were bombers, not pararescue, and we weren’t even supposed to be there, so they couldn’t sanction a rescue mission. When the ground offensive moved into that area two months later, they found Ollie. Alive.” Nausea hit Bucky and he watched as Peyton slammed a good portion of her beer, bringing the bottle down on the bar hard. Her green eyes were unseeing. “By the time I got leave to see him in the hospital, he’d attempted suicide twice and I couldn’t really blame him when he told me about some of the shit in his head. He was missing more fingers and toes than he had left, one ear had been cut off, they’d carved out his right eye, and they’d castrated him. Those were the physical things, anyway. When I went to him, I tried to apologize and tell him that we tried to go back for him, but Ollie…he just gave me this thousand-yard stare and said that _that_ was the real torture, knowing that no one was coming.” 

Acid churned in Bucky’s gut as he thought of the memories he had of Azzano and of the Alps, before the wiping began. Peyton’s friend was right, the worst part had been realizing that no one was coming to save him, that there would be no end to it. “Where is he now?”

“Dead,” she said softly. “He spent some time in a psych facility and they thought he was doing better, but I guess he wasn’t. Something like seventeen vets kill themselves every day in this country now. It’s fucking awful.” Peyton swiped at her eyes and he could see the glassy sheen in them in the odd lighting of the bar. “How long have you been out?” she asked.

“Few months,” he answered hoarsely. He was rounding up….he’d barely been out of D.C. and away from Hydra for eight weeks.

Peyton looked to him sharply, the sadness in her eyes replaced by urgent concern. “What the fuck are you doing in a shit bar in the middle of nowhere?”

He shrugged. “Ran out of gas. Needed a drink and a motel.”

“You’re not staying in a motel.” She made a gesture to the bartender, who raised an eyebrow, but appeared with two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He poured the shots, then left the bottle. Peyton picked up her shot, then offered the other to him. “You’re staying with me.”

He reached across himself to accept the shot with his right hand and he knew she noticed, but he didn’t care. He hated that left arm. Two months ago, he’d nearly caved Steve’s face in with that arm and he’d used it to successfully do far worse damage to others. “You sure that’s a good idea, doll? You hardly know anything about me.”

Peyton gave him a long, assessing look. “I know enough. So, how do you feel about forgetting all of that bullshit for the rest of the night?”

He raised an eyebrow at the shot, wondering if the serum would even let him get drunk. It was only a bastardized version of the serum, sure, but still. “I think that sounds nice in theory. Not sure I can get that drunk, though.”

Peyton tipped back her shot, eyes locked on him, and smirked. “Let’s find out. Come on, you’re behind.”

They talked while they drank. It was strange because he couldn’t remember the last real conversation he’d had with someone. It had probably been in 1945. Peyton kept returning to her beer and so did he, but whenever she managed to get him to carry the conversation for a little while, she poured more shots. After what might have been their fifth shots, Peyton asked him, “So, where are you going? You said you ran out of gas here.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Just…starting over.”

For a moment, she said nothing, then, she asked, “What do you like to do?”

Another shrug, though he did frown, having fully expected her to ask why he wasn’t with or going towards family. “Don’t know. It’s been a long time since I was able to like anything.”

Peyton pondered that for a moment, then said, “Flying was my life for a while. Everything else was just killing time until I got up in the air again. Playing cards, drinking, singing, getting laid, it all just paled in comparison. Now I can’t fly. I’ll never fly professionally again and I’ll probably never be able to afford a private craft. I had to completely rethink my life.” He wondered what had happened. She made it sound like she’d been dishonorably discharged, though for what he couldn’t guess. “When I was a kid, my dad was honorably discharged and he opened a repair shop here. My mom had been sick for awhile by then and it was clear that it was only a matter of time, so he wanted to reestablish roots in the place where I grew up so that we could be close and I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to anyone else. I spent most of my teens in his garage helping out. He taught me everything I knew about engines…and about plenty of other things too. I was afraid to come home with my tail between my legs, my flying career cut short when my dad and two generations before him had served this country as pilots, but I didn’t know what else to do. When I walked in the door, I could tell he already knew, someone had called him. But he just handed me a wrench and said, ‘Hey, Peyton. Take a look at that ‘Vette for me, wouldya?’” Peyton laughed to herself and he felt some warmth in his chest too. “He told me I had to just find something that I liked to do and maybe it would become the new plan or maybe it would just pass the time until I figured things out. Well, I liked working in his garage.”

“So, is it the plan or still passing the time?”

She shrugged. “I can’t tell anymore, which probably means it’s working.

Bucky shrugged and poured two more shots, offering one to Peyton. “To passing the time.”

Peyton grinned and accepted the shot. “To passing the time.”

The whiskey felt so damn good going down and as it did, the warm fog at the edges of his vision took center-stage. So, he could get drunk. Excellent.


	2. A Strange Day

For the first time since he’d left Hydra and the sleep-altering drugs they’d had him on, Bucky awoke from a dreamless sleep. It felt like heaven. When he realized, though, that he was semi-asleep in a bed and not in the seat of the truck he’d stolen, he came crashing to wakefulness. The room was small and sparse with light coming in between the blinds that covered the window. The bed was a full size, which was a hell of a lot more space than he was used to, and a grey plaid comforter was covering him, along with worn-soft grey sheets. He took stock of his effects, finding his boots neatly arranged beside the bed, all of his clothes still on his body, and his knives and guns under the pillow, under the mattress, in his boot, and between the mattress and the headboard. So maybe he hadn’t been that drunk.

Except that he couldn’t remember doing these things.

It was a horrible, familiar, terrifying feeling, not being able to remember. There was still so much missing from his memory and he loathed it.

There was a knock on the door, quiet but efficient. “Hey, Barnes. If you’re out here in five there are pancakes in it for you.”

Peyton.

Bucky blinked a few times in an attempt to recall more of last night. He remembered meeting her, remembered several hours of conversation. She’d been drunk before him, but he didn’t remember her guiding them back to her place, so he supposed she was a more useful drunk than him. He was supposed to be some master assassin and he had no idea where the fuck he was.

Although, the more he remembered of Peyton, the less concerned he was about that. Not because he didn’t see her as a threat. There were too many variables unaccounted for and she had military training. But she might be a worthwhile ally.

His brain kept focusing on memories of her eyes, her blond hair, and her tank-top that covered so little. Apparently, he was also attracted to her, so there was another odd variable in the mix.

He cursed out his broken mind and got out of bed, moving slowly until he got a handle on just how hungover he was. Mechanically, he restored his weapons and boots to where they belonged and made the bed to military regulations.

When he exited the bedroom, it was into a narrow hallway that led through a small house to an open space that was living area to the right and kitchen to the left. A small house with a simple floorplan and minimal windows. Safe. Whispers guided him out and turned him towards the kitchen, where Peyton was having a near-silent heated discussion with a tall, broad man who, between the green eyes and the military bearing, could only be her father. Anxiety struck him like a lightning bolt, but before he could do anything about it, their eyes were on him and Peyton was smiling and beckoning him over. “Barnes, this is my dad, Lt. Colonel Lawfley. You can call him Rick, everyone else does.”

Bucky swallowed his nerves and came close enough to accept the hand the Lt. Colonel offered him and force himself to look him in the eyes. Just because Peyton liked him didn’t mean her dad would, especially if he thought they were romantic. The words fell out of his mouth completely unplanned and a moment later, he stood there in horror wondering where they’d come from. “Sergeant Barnes, sir. Peyton speaks highly of you.”

Both Lawfleys stared at him in surprise but, after a beat, the Lt. Colonel smiled at him and folded his arms comfortably. “She also speaks highly of you, Sergeant. Where did you serve?”

Before he could flounder over that one, Peyton saved him by saying, “Don’t answer that, Barnes. You don’t have to be a sergeant here. Can we go get coffee now?”

To Bucky’s surprise, the Lt. Colonel didn’t argue, just shrugged and moved towards the front door. Peyton followed him a little slower, shooting Bucky a concerned glance, but he bottled up all of the bizarre things he was feeling and just walked beside her as normally as he could. “Sorry to spring him on you,” she said quietly. “I thought I told you when we came in last night that I live with him and we always go to the diner for breakfast on weekends.”

“It’s fine,” he said, hoping he sounded calmer than he was. “I guess I really was drunk. He seems like a good guy.”

“You just haven’t talked to anyone military since you got out,” Peyton finished.

“Yep.”

They exited the house, Peyton locking up behind them, and followed the Lt. Colonel down the sidewalk. They were actually on the main drag just a few blocks north of what could be considered downtown in such a small town. Bucky took a moment to clock his surroundings. A large garage was attached to the little house with a sign over the large doors that read _Lawfley Engines_. The street was quiet and, based on the angle of the sunlight poking between the clouds, that was because it was early, maybe seven or seven-thirty. He could actually see his truck from here, which explained why he hadn’t put much effort into remembering where Peyton was taking him. It would have been a pathetically easy escape.

The diner was roughly halfway between the Lawfleys’ and the bar he’d met Peyton at and was called, oddly enough, Petticoat Junction. By the time they’d slid into a booth, Peyton hesitating before sitting beside him maybe so he wouldn’t feel ganged-up on, he’d concluded that this particular diner actually toed the line between diner and bar. There was, in fact, a bar area in the center of the restaurant with a line of eight taps right next to the coffeepots. A waitress in jeans and a band t-shirt took their orders, which included a Bloody Mary for the Lt. Colonel, a coffee with creamer for Peyton, and a black coffee for him. He’d never actually had coffee with creamer and today seemed strange enough without any more experiments. Peyton and her dad talked quietly while they all looked over the menu, which consisted of a hell of a lot of things he’d never heard of. He’d been running into that problem everywhere he tried to get food, too used to MREs to even recognize real food. Peyton had mentioned pancakes, so he decided to cling to that idea and make his life a little simpler. When the waitress returned, the Lt. Colonel ordered an omelet that gave no indication to its contents in the name and Peyton ordered chocolate chip pancakes with chocolate syrup on top. That detail filled him with such a strong wave of fondness that his brain nearly shorted out, but he managed to order some pancakes for himself, no chocolate involved, without incident.

When the menus had been whisked away, the Lt. Colonel became obviously uncomfortable and it instantly raised Peyton’s hackles. “What?” she asked, stirring her coffee in a way that managed to be threatening.

The Lt. Colonel sighed. “I need you to drop off Zugen’s lawnmower.”

Peyton let go of her spoon and buried her forehead in her hand. “Dad, no! I told you the last time, I’m not fucking doing that again.”

“If it doesn’t get dropped off, he’s not going to pick it up and we’re not going to get paid. Kraskys dropped off their BMW damn near totaled last night after you left and I’m swamped with it.”

Peyton groaned and dropped her head to the tabletop. “No,” she grumbled.

Bucky couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at the exchange. “What’s so awful about Zugen?”

Peyton grumbled something unintelligible and her father rolled his eyes. “Zugen likes to flirt. When he gives us a job, he never picks it up because he’s always hoping that Peyton will be the one to drop it off. It used to be that he would pick it up himself like everyone else and she’d just hide in the back, but he got wise to that, I guess.”

All of his insides tightened and his muscles stiffened with them. He actually felt the plates in his left arm shift the way they only did when he was readying himself for a fight. He eyed Peyton, who had picked up her head to mumble obscenities at her father. On impulse, he cut her off by saying, “I could go with you.”

Silence. Peyton looked to him in shock, then her green eyes lit up. “Seriously? I know you’re just passing through, if you have somewhere to be…”

He gave her a look that silenced her because they both knew he had nowhere to be. “It’s fine. I’m in no hurry and if he sees you with somebody, maybe it’ll cool his jets for a while.”

“Thank you!” she all but squealed. He could sense her wanting to grab his arm or hug him or something, but she thankfully did neither, which probably looked funny to her dad and anyone else watching but he appreciated it. “You’re a lifesaver, seriously. I hate going up there alone. We can go after this and then you can be on your way, I promise.”

“No problem.”

Their breakfast arrived then, all of the portions twice as large as Bucky had expected, though considering his odd metabolism that he really hadn’t figured out yet, he wasn’t complaining. Peyton’s pancakes were dripping chocolate, but when she looked to the waitress with a question on her lips, the waitress just smirked and pulled a squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup from her apron and handed it to Peyton. He realized that he too was smirking as he watched Peyton shamelessly douse her pancakes in chocolate and forced himself to focus on his own food.

The Lt. Colonel had just finished his Bloody when, as if on cue, the waitress reappeared. No words were exchanged before the Lt. Colonel handed her a card, at which point Peyton hissed at him, “Dad! It’s my week!”

“Too late. Besides, I know your boss and he doesn’t pay you well enough.”

Bucky caught on then and felt for his own wallet, which contained nothing but what remained of the paper bills he’d taken off the bodies of the Hydra operatives who’d been in the one base he remembered and dismantled. “Shit, I have cash…”

“This one’s on me,” the Lt. Colonel said in a final tone. He gave Bucky a considering look, then added, “Next time you’re in town, you can buy.”

Next time? That confused the hell out of Bucky and if shutting him up was the Lt. Colonel’s goal, he’d succeeded, because he was too busy picking apart that statement to consider responding. Peyton was busy collecting what was left of her pancakes into a Styrofoam box and didn’t see the Lt. Colonel hold Bucky’s gaze and just barely smirk as if he knew something no one else did. Hopefully not Bucky’s identity. That thought was enough to make him want to bolt right out of town.

Then, Peyton smiled at him and said, “So…Zugen’s?”

And, just like that, he forced a smile and said, “Let’s go.”

\-----------------

He and the Lt. Colonel loaded the lawnmower, a riding unit, into the bed of a large pickup truck the garage owned. Bucky tried to make it look like he was putting effort in, but wasn’t sure how successful he was. When they got the mower in place, Peyton hopped into the bed and laid a strap over it as an ‘insurance policy,’ or so she said, and the Lt. Colonel smirked and watched Peyton as he said, “Hell, Barnes, it’s nice having a big strong guy like you around.”

“Bite me,” Peyton growled. “I’ve lifted that fucking mower with you before and you know it.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up at what must’ve been Peyton’s third or fourth show of blatant disrespect towards her father and it wasn’t even 10am. The Lt. Colonel only laughed, though, and Bucky recognized pride in the way he was smiling. “You’re right, baby, you’re right.” When he caught Bucky staring at him, he took a few steps closer and whispered to him, “Some dads like obedient daughters. I like having one that’s tougher than me. Less to worry about that way.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You don’t worry about her getting into trouble?”

The Lt. Colonel snorted. “She gets into trouble all the time, but she’s smart about it and if someone tries to hurt her, I hear about it every time because they always come out far worse. When she first started dating, I cleaned my guns on the kitchen table while the boys came to pick her up. She made it clear very quickly that that wasn’t necessary.”

“What did she do?”

Laughter danced in the Lt. Colonel’s eyes. “The second guy she dated, she beat me to the kitchen table and when he arrived to pick her up that first night, I was the one opening the door and she was the one cleaning her guns. I’d never been so proud in my life.”

That brought out the first real grin Bucky could remember feeling on his face and it was odd how natural it seemed, like he had a face made for laughing and smirking at things. He didn’t have a single specific memory of smiling, though. Well, he was going to remember this one. As icing on the cake, he turned to look at Peyton and, in the brief moment that she was adjusting where her rachet strap hooked into the truckbed, he got a fantastic view of her jeans-clad ass that he was sure to remember. The Lt. Colonel clapped him on his right shoulder, which surprisingly didn’t send him into a fit, and laughed as he walked away. “I’m not worried, Barnes, not one damn bit.”

Before Bucky could think too hard about that, Peyton dropped down from the truckbed and slammed it shut. “I’ll drive,” she said.

“I’d expect nothing less from a pilot,” he said, unable to suppress a smirk.

Peyton grinned as they passed each other to go to their respective sides of the truck. They were well within touching range, but neither reached out and that was perfectly fine.

Zugen owned a large, poorly-maintained property a few miles outside of town. There was a long, winding drive between oddly-spaced trees that led the way past random pieces of equipment in variable states of disrepair. After they passed the third lawnmower, Bucky raised an eyebrow at Peyton. “Exactly how often are you out here?”

Peyton rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Too often.”

They pulled up to where the driveway ended between a large pole barn and a farmhouse that was about as well maintained as the rest of the property. Peyton had barely cut the engine when a large man stepped onto the front porch and called to her in a booming voice, “Hell’s bells, you’re looking beautiful today, Peyton. You didn’t have to bring that damn lawnmower up here! I didn’t mean to trouble your pretty little head!”

“I know, Zugen, I know,” Peyton said wearily as she hopped up into the trunk, moving quickly to unstrap the mower. Bucky moved a little slower, taking stock of everything around them, including Zugen, as he went. Zugen was probably three hundred pounds and almost none of it was muscle. He was also probably in his late fifties and had a distinctly unclean look to him that was physical in addition to the way he was watching Peyton. He hadn’t even noticed Bucky yet because he was so unabashedly focused on her. It made him nauseous to watch.

He cut across Zugen’s field of vision to drop the tailgate and, in case that wasn’t obnoxious enough, loudly called to Peyton, “You got that, Peyton?”

In his peripheral, Bucky delighted in watching Zugen have what could have been mistaken for a stroke. Peyton looked to him in surprise, then helped him roll the mower to the edge of the tailgate. He offered her a hand more for show than because he thought she needed it and she took it as she hopped down. A rush of liquid warmth oozed up his arm from the hand she’d touched. She was gorgeous, she was tough as nails, and she could make him feel _that._ He tried his damnedest not to react outwardly to what might be the best physical sensation in his memory and moved quickly to the side of the mower Zugen could see while Peyton moved to the far side. He did not want that slug ogling her ass and jacking off thinking about it later. She was tougher than she looked and didn’t make a sound as they lowered the mower to the driveway. As they dropped it, their faces were little more than six inches apart and he could see how hers had reddened from the exertion, or maybe from Zugen’s slimy gaze on her.

“Thanks,” she said softly to him. He nodded, probably a little more stiffly than was normal, and stood to the side as Peyton moved towards the porch. “Alright, Zugen, you owe me one-fifty today.”

“Well, that was damn nice of you, Peyton. You didn’t have to do this. Why don’t you come in for a drink?”

“It’s ten in the morning, Zugen,” Peyton pointed out mildly as she counted the cash the man had given her. “Besides, you have to keep that around for your lady friends that come calling.”

Bucky nearly rolled his eyes at that, but managed to smother his disgust as Zugen blushed and cackled. Peyton hurried to the driver’s side, cringing the whole way, and Bucky was barely seated before she started the truck. Then, they were using the wide driveway to turn around and drive back the way they came, neither of them in seatbelts yet. When they reached the main road and Peyton paused long enough for them both to get belted in, she quietly said to him, “Thank you for that. That was much easier because of you.”

“That was easier?” Bucky couldn’t help saying. “That guy is the textbook definition of ‘creep.’ What does worse look like?”

Peyton scowled and pulled out at a break in the traffic, heading back towards town. “He knows better than to touch me, but other than that all bets are off. A lot of guys get like that when they see a woman in a garage, like they think I’m eye candy or some shit. I’d like to see one of them even be inside a plane during a Kulbit and not shit themselves, much less be flying the damn thing.”

Bucky blinked in astonishment and said, “You’ve made a Kulbit? What kind of plane?”

Peyton lit right up and looked to him with wide eyes. “You have no idea how impressed I am that you know what I’m talking about. It was an F-22 Raptor.”

“I didn’t think any American planes had been recorded doing it.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well, I wasn’t exactly being recorded at the time. I may or may not have flown a black op or two.”

Which was why she couldn’t go back for her friend Ollie. They were flying a black op together. Bucky shifted in his seat to face her more directly, still stunned. “Okay, so you pulled a Kulbit. I’ve seen footage of what happens when people _try_ for a Kulbit and fail. What were you doing, exactly?”

Peyton smirked. “I wasn’t officially doing anything, but I may or may not have gotten into a dogfight with some Russian fighter pilots who may or may not have been about to shoot me down over somewhere that may or may not have once been part of the Soviet Union.”

Bucky smirked. “We’re not soldiers, right?”

Peyton grinned and continued with less censoring. “I couldn’t shake them, I was raised by fighter pilots who never gave up, and I knew how it was done because I’d always wanted to do it and had studied it. I knew my plane could handle it, physics-wise, if I could pull it off. I went through all of this in my head in about half a second. That’s all the time you ever have as a fighter pilot, fractions of seconds. I decided, and I did it.”

He grinned, imagining her plane going end over end, more a flip than a loop, and stalling for just an instant before finding itself very nearly where it had been seconds prior, just now behind the aircraft that had been pursuing it. “So, while you were being a badass flying a black ops mission, you pulled one of the most badass stunts a pilot can do, you did it in a plane that has never been recorded doing that stunt successfully, and you came out in one piece.”

“Better than one piece,” she said proudly. “I took out those Russian jets and completed the mission. There is one less ICBM launch site in that part of the world thanks to me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, forcing himself to look out at the road ahead of them and focus on something else, something that would erase how fucking _turned on_ he was right then. How was that even possible? He hadn’t been _turned on_ since 1943, before Azzano. “So, what do you say to these idiots that show up at the garage? I know you don’t tell Zugen to go fuck himself.”

Peyton cringed. “He does that without my saying so. I have to let them all down gently because it’s my dad’s business and I don’t want to alienate them.”

“I find it hard to believe that that’s how your dad wants you to handle it.”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “My dad was raised in a generation where hitting on a woman was cute and girls melted for it. I don’t melt. The polite thing to do is drop your flirting when the other party obviously isn’t interested, but apparently nobody taught these guys that so they just keep trying. It pisses me right off.”

Peyton had been so good at reading his boundaries and respecting them and it grated on him that other guys were pushing hers and all she could respond with were the demure phrases women fell back on when they thought they had to be nice. _Maybe next time. I’m busy tonight. I’m late for something. Someone else already asked me._ She didn’t want to be nice, she wanted the attention gone so she could just do her job and be respected as a mechanic and a pilot, not a piece of meat.

A lightbulb went on and he turned slowly to look to Peyton, who was looking back at him in a conspiratorial way that probably closely matched his expression. “Barnes?” she asked. “Any chance you want to stay in town a bit longer?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m expecting a client who’s picking up his car I fixed and the last time he stopped by to check on it, he made this asinine comment about how if I’m ever lonely I know where to find him. I know he’s going to say something again and since it’s a Saturday, he’s going to try and get me to go out with him tonight.”

“Unless he sees me there and thinks you’re not so lonely after all,” Bucky finished. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll hang out at the garage with you today and then we can go for a beer again tonight but as a couple this time.”

Peyton’s eyes went wide. “Really? That would be amazing. I am so damn sick of these small-town boys with their entitled attitudes. I’d owe you so big. Please?”

Bucky snorted at that and shot her a lopsided grin. “No worries, doll. It’s been a while since a girl begged me for anything, there’s no need for that.”

Peyton laughed. “Don’t you start too!”

He held up his hands in mock defense, his left, as always, covered in a black leather glove. Peyton extended her hand to him and he hesitated, the light mood evaporating. His left hand was closer to her, he’d have to reach across himself to give her his right hand and she knew it, she’d seen him do it at the bar last night with the shots. He hated his left arm. _Hated it._ He didn’t trust it and he didn’t trust how distinguishable it was to anyone who knew anything about the Winter Soldier, aka anyone in Hydra, SHIELD, or the upper levels of the military. 

But she hadn’t seen a special ops guy or a sniper or the Winter Soldier. She’d seen a POW.

He couldn’t look at her as he put his left hand in hers. She intertwined their fingers slowly, her digits hitting all of the pressure points in his hand just so. It felt both strange and very, very good. She must have been able to tell the hand was mechanical, but she didn’t comment on it and didn’t move to inspect the rest of his arm. Instead, she just said softly, “Flirt with me all you want, Barnes. You don’t scare me.”

Even as his mind and body tripped over each other a few steps behind, his mouth said, “Of course I don’t. I can’t pull a Kubit without shitting myself.” 

Peyton burst into loud, unfiltered laughter that felt like sunshine on his shoulders and brought a grin to his face. They pulled into the alley beside the garage and got out there, then headed inside.

Peyton pointed out the very well-stocked fridge, outfitted them both with Cokes, then planted him on a badly-spray-painted stool near the Toyota she was pulling the guts out of. The Lt. Colonel was buried in the front end of the BMW he’d mentioned at breakfast, which did look beat to hell, and Peyton didn’t bother to disturb him when he didn’t hear them come in over the sounds of his tools and the very loud rock music blaring from the stereo. So, Bucky sat and rotated between watching the perimeter, which was at great risk with all the loud noise to mask approaches, and watching Peyton. At some point when he’d been turned away, she’d removed her shirt and tied it around her waist, leaving her in just a thin tank-top through which he could very clearly see her bra and something metal that might be a belly-button ring of all things. And she wondered why guys hit on her all the time? She was ridiculously hot and did nothing to hide that fact. Her hands and arms were already getting grease stains that seemed to annoy her when she discovered a new one, but otherwise didn’t trouble her. It made sense a few minutes later when she got another one and scowled, saying, “Where are you leaking from? Everywhere? Come on.”

A shadow appeared on the perimeter and Bucky tapped once on the hood of the car to warn Peyton as he watched a tall, traditionally-attractive guy enter the shop, eyes already molten and trained on her ass. Peyton growled under her breath, not so quietly that Bucky couldn’t catch it with his enhanced hearing, and stood, scrubbing at her hands and arms with a rag. “Hey, Justin,” she said. “I’ve got your Mustang ready to go out back. Told you I just needed the part.”

Justin grinned, eyes raking over her in a way that sent Bucky’s blood pressure rising. “No worries, baby. Now, what do I owe you?”

Peyton walked with him to one of the counters along the back wall and Bucky followed a few steps behind on boots that, despite being piece-of-shit steel-toed combat boots, were silent on his feet. “Four-eighty-six. That includes the part and tax.”

“Maybe you can cut me a deal, baby-girl,” Justin started, hands moving towards her. “We could…”

Bucky took the rag Peyton was wringing out of her hands, stepping in close enough as he did it to completely derail whatever Justin had planned to do with his stupid mouth and his stupid hands. “Where’s your degreaser, babe?” he asked nonchalantly, standing several inches closer to her than Justin was.

Peyton breathed a sigh of relief and pointed him to a cupboard. “Thanks, sweetie. You’d think I’d just keep some by the cash box, but I never think of it.”

“‘Sweetie?” Justin asked in a combination of shock and annoyance that made Bucky smirk as he wet a corner of the rag with the degreaser.

“Yeah, this is Barnes,” Peyton said, gesturing to him as he approached and offered her the rag.

Justin seemed relieved for a moment, as if the pet names could be explained away by the way she’d introduced him. “I see. Army buddy?”

Peyton’s teeth ground together and Bucky’s did too on her behalf. Before Peyton could formulate a response of her own, he raised an eyebrow at Justin, feigning confusion. “Huh. I thought everyone knew you were Air Force, darling. And I’m the boyfriend, actually.” Peyton placed the used rag in his waiting hand and kissed him on the cheek. It felt like an injection of bliss and watching Justin’s face while it happened was even better. 

As he walked away to dispose of the rag, he listened to a much more confident Peyton accept her four hundred and eighty-six dollars in cash. Then, when she and Justin headed out and around the building to his Mustang, Bucky went the other way around and listened from the corner as they talked.

“So, Peyton…look, I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Don’t worry about it. Normally, I try to keep my work life and my personal life totally separate, it just happened this way today.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Bucky rolled his eyes at this dumbass who’d apparently never heard of professionalism. He had to applaud Peyton for laying the groundwork on how to shut down guys in the garage in the future, though. If she wanted to, she could indefinitely use the story that no one ever saw him because she kept him far away from her work. And it might deter idiots from hitting on her at work at all knowing that she kept a strict divide between the garage and her private life. Maybe.

When the Mustang sped off, Bucky turned the corner, purposely kicking a bit of gravel so she’d hear him, and watched her turn to face him, smirking. “You’re good at this,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Pretending to be your boyfriend?”

“And sneaking around.” Bucky looked to his peripheral vision in shock and watched the Lt. Colonel, who smirked in the exact same way his daughter did, enter their orbit with a grape soda in hand. When was the last time someone had snuck up on him? “I haven’t seen someone move that way since I worked with some special ops guys years ago. Now, I just need to see you with a gun and I can settle it.”

Peyton narrowed her eyes in warning, but Bucky said, “I’ll bite. What are you trying to settle? My branch?”

The Lt. Colonel’s green eyes sparked and he grinned teasingly at Peyton. “Whether you’re going to marry my daughter.”

“For fuck’s sake, dad,” Peyton hissed as Bucky stood there in slack-jawed shock.

The Lt. Colonel howled with laughter and started walking backwards towards the doors, pointing to Bucky. “Of all the idiots she’s been with, Barnes, you’re my favorite. Don’t doubt yourself.” Then, he vanished into the garage, still laughing and leaving a red-faced Peyton grumbling and pacing.

When he got over his amazement that Peyton’s dad thought she’d marry him of all people, Bucky went to Peyton and stepped right in her path so she had to freeze in place to avoid a collision. “Chill. He heard enough to know it’s fake, he’s just messing with you.”

Peyton rolled her eyes, but her blush did alleviate in the moments before she sidestepped him and made for the garage. She had a dangerous walk, especially when she was angry like this, with the sort of sharp confidence you’d expect from someone willing and able to shoot you in the head. It was sexy as all hell. Add to that the fact that her tank-top had ridden up, leaving a few inches of sweat-slicked skin exposed, and he was once again very turned on. “Well, he’s still under the delusion that he’s going to teach his grandbaby how to fly. Come on, I need to finish that Toyota.”

“No baby pilots for you?” he asked, deliberately putting zero emotion in the question. He felt none and had no right to any, though he could see why the Lt. Colonel would want to teach a fifth-generation Lawfley to fly.

Peyton groaned and paused just outside the door, the music wafting out at them. She gave Bucky a pleading look. “Don’t encourage him. Please. I am very attached to my identity and I don’t want to give it up and just be ‘Mom.’”

That sobered him right up and put him instantly on her side. Identities were sacred and he knew exactly what happened when they were violated. If Peyton didn’t want to give up any part of her identity, she shouldn’t have to, and he imagined that she was right in thinking becoming a parent would be a huge identity shift. He took a deep breath, searching for words, then, thinking of Steve, settled with, “He loves you as you and that’s never going to change. What matters is how you see yourself and what you want to be. If that’s exactly the way you want it, the rest will work out fine.”

Peyton eyed him for a moment, then smiled slowly. “Thanks, Barnes.”

“Sure. So, what exactly is wrong with that Toyota?”

Peyton groaned and led the way into the garage once more. “Everything.” Then, she proceeded to wax poetic about everything wrong with the Toyota, which did, indeed, sound like everything.


	3. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments!! I so appreciate them. There are some tears in this chapter, but also plenty of fluff and smut to make up for them. I hope you enjoy. <3
> 
> Because I am a historian and I hate inaccuracy, I feel the need to post this note here as a precursor to this chapter so you know I'm not being inaccurate when these references pop up. 
> 
> Peyton mentions the VA in this chapter and again talks about veteran suicide. Her feelings about the VA do not reflect the experiences of all veterans who receive their services, but they do reflect her experiences and her friend Ollie's, as well as plenty of real veterans. It is true that a large number of veterans who received VA care continue to suffer from PTSD and depression that prove fatal (in fact, more veterans who receive VA care commit suicide than those who don't receive care) and that the statistic Peyton mentioned in chapter one about roughly 17 veterans committing suicide per day is based on and accurate to the VA's most recent report on the subject. The report also concludes that more than 6k veterans died each year by their own hands from 2008 to 2017, totalling more than the 58,220 American soldiers killed in combat during the Vietnam War. The official report is here: https://www.mentalhealth.va.gov/docs/data-sheets/2019/2019_National_Veteran_Suicide_Prevention_Annual_Report_508.pdf
> 
> The order that Peyton mentions carrying out during combat and deeply regretting is an order that I do not know whether or not an American Air Force pilot has ever or would ever be given. It is true that the DOD reported that 499 civilians had been killed by US military actions in 2017 in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, and Yemen, with an additional 450 civilian deaths that required further assessment. That does not account for any civilian deaths that the US did not claim responsibility for and should have or could not be officially tied to. Remember that Peyton flew "occasional" black ops missions and that civilian casualties by her hand on those missions would not have been counted in such a report if she was successful in maintaining secrecy. Civilian deaths directly by airstrikes or by proxy through destruction of infrastructure by airstrikes happen often enough to be very distressing, but they are impossible to count accurately for a variety of reasons. You can find a brief report on War on Terror casualties including the reference to the DOD's own report here: https://watson.brown.edu/costsofwar/files/cow/imce/papers/2018/Human%20Costs%2C%20Nov%208%202018%20CoW.pdf

As the raised-gentleman and the less dirty of the two of them, Bucky gave Peyton first crack at the shower. He’d learned the layout of the house and knew before the question even came up that there was only one bathroom and that the water heater was probably pretty small. So, he shoved Peyton towards the shower and walked up the road to where his truck was parked, surprisingly without a ticket on the windshield. With the Lt. Colonel’s permission, he moved it to the small lot behind the garage where they kept the cars they were working on and where it wouldn’t get ticketed or towed. The duffel bag that contained everything he owned came in the house with him, then, and he headed towards the spare bedroom he’d stayed in last night. It was as he was coming down the hall that the water turned off and it was silent enough that, a few steps later, he froze. “That you, Barnes?” Peyton called, her voice echoing in the bathroom.

“Yeah, just me. You good?”

Peyton grumbled something, then, a little louder, answered, “I procrastinated over the laundry yesterday and it’s biting me in the ass. Would you grab a few towels out of the dryer, please?”

Bucky smirked and tossed his duffel into the spare room. After spending the whole day with Peyton, he’d decided that he enjoyed her teasing humor how easily she got frustrated. Maybe it was a pilot thing. The phrase ‘control freak’ came from somewhere, after all. “Sure, kitten, I’ll grab you a towel.”

“Barnes, don’t you _dare_ call me that again! I will kill you!” Peyton snarled at him, but he couldn’t help laughing and when he recognized the sound of her laughing under her breath too, his glee only built.

The laundry machines were stacked in the pantry and he found them easily, grabbing three bath towels out and shutting the dryer again. On his approach to the bathroom, he called, “Okay, kitten, here you go…”

The bathroom door opened and, within an instant, she’d dealt him an impressive gut punch and an elbow that nearly dislocated his right shoulder, landing him on his knees with a garrote around his neck as tight as a death threat. If he had been expecting it, she wouldn’t have had a chance, but as it was, she had gotten him good and he was impressed. Then he opened his eyes.

Peyton was standing over him with one eyebrow raised in a challenge, her hair wet and slicked over one shoulder, her eye makeup smudged and dark around those green eyes, water droplets tracking slowly and then quicker over her bare skin. She did have a belly-button ring, a silver stud that he kind of wanted to run his tongue over, and the way she had him pinned with the garrote had his head bent back, giving him a fantastic view of her upper body, including a set of breasts that must have been tough to fit in a flight suit. “Scared, _kitten_?” Peyton teased, tugging lightly on the garrote.

A slow smile worked its way across his face and he took the opportunity to drink in the view she was giving him. “Are you, _kitten_? You’re not going to get the drop on me a second time, I can promise you that.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you going to ask why I have a garrote in my bathroom?”

He shrugged. “If I had a bathroom, I would probably keep a garrote in it, although if I had to stab someone, I’d prefer to do it in the bathroom for cleanup purposes. So, maybe a garrote _and_ a knife or two for convenience.”

Peyton narrowed her eyes in curiosity, not suspicion. “You are black ops, aren’t you? I thought for sure you were Army.”

He surprised himself by snorting at that instead of getting nervous or defensive. He trusted her, apparently. Maybe because she’d flown black ops missions. Maybe because her friend was a POW before he killed himself. Maybe because even with a garrote around his neck she was still outmatched and naked, making her far more vulnerable. He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve been both.”

Peyton seemed to consider that for a moment. “That’s not the whole story.”

“Of course not. But if I was black ops, you’ll never know the whole story any more than I’ll ever know yours.”

“See, when I look at you, though, I don’t get a guard-the-government’s-secrets-with-my-life vibe,” she said drily. 

His eyes still hadn’t paused in their intimate mapping of her, memorizing her just like this, completely naked and actively threatening to kill him. He couldn’t remember the last time he got hard, but he was now…rock-hard, in fact. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t exactly get that vibe from you either, but I do see a very beautiful, very intelligent pilot who is completely capable of killing my dumb ass.”

“And that turns you on?” Peyton asked, smirking. When he nodded, her smirk widened, but she released the garrote and held out a hand. He sighed, knowing that the hand was not to help him off the floor, and placed one of the towels in her grasp. Peyton chuckled and began drying off, doing absolutely nothing to hide her nudity as he got to his feet and leaned against the doorframe. “So, I had been thinking just a few beers so everyone sees us together,” Peyton said, “But then I had another idea. There’s a concert tonight…it’s the kind of thing that’s only fun if you’re there with someone or there to pick up.”

He forced his eyes to stay on her face as she talked and, when she paused, he shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’ll warn you, though, it’s been a really long time since I was at a concert or danced or anything.” _These must still be things people do for fun._ He had no memory of what _fun_ felt like.

Peyton snorted and expertly wrapped her towel around her middle as she turned to face him. “I think you’re giving this town a little too much credit. Our concert hall is a fucking barn.”

That wrenched a laugh from him and he wondered what kind of music would be played. He’d listened to a lot of different things on the radio while he drove, trying to figure out if he liked any of it. Music was so strange. Maybe his problem was properly attaching emotions to the sound. “I think it’s still going to be a culture shock for me, but I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” She stood off to the side and gestured grandly to the shower, winking at him. “Your turn, kitten.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, heading for his room. “Alright. Let me just grab fresh clothes.”

“What? Not going to go walking around my house in a towel? Fair’s fair.”

Bucky recognized the joking tone, but his mood soured anyway as he dragged a different long-sleeved shirt, pair of jeans, and pair of boxers out of the duffel, smelling each article to be sure they were clean enough. They were; he remembered now that he’d washed them in a motel sink a few days back. He wadded the clothes into his metal hand, glaring down at the glove. “I don’t exactly have a fighter pilot’s confidence.” 

When he turned, Peyton was leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, her wet hair sending fresh droplets down on her arm and chest, all the joking gone from her eyes. It was a small room and she only had to take one step to be within arm’s reach where, eyes on his the whole time, she very slowly reached out and laid her hand on his left bicep. He was frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to burst right out of it. Softly, Peyton whispered to him, “Hide this all you want if it’s what you need to do, but you don’t have to on my account. Like you said, I’m a fighter pilot. I don’t flinch.”

He could feel every inch of air between his lips and hers, between his hands and hers, and he so badly wanted to close that space and it had nothing to do with whatever she may or may not be wearing, which he’d managed to completely forget about. After what felt like years, he managed to say, “I don’t think I’m good fake boyfriend material.”

Peyton’s frown deepened and she softly tapped one finger on his arm. “Because of this? Because of whatever they had you do when you served? Or because you want it to be real?”

His head was swimming and he had to look away from her shimmering eyes to clear his mind. “All of the above. I don’t want to hurt you or cause any trouble for you and I’ve already been enough of an inconvenience…”

“Shut up, Barnes,” Peyton said. Her volume was low, but her tone was unmistakable and he met her gaze instantly. She tapped his arm again. “One of my best pilots was injured when her plane was blown half to hell. She managed to crash land it and we got her out of there, but they had to amputate her arm. I suspect just from the feel that your prosthetic is very different from hers, but I’ve seen it before all the same. And if you want to talk about shit things we did for our country…” she paused there and he watched as a sheen of tears glazed over her eyes. “Well, I was once ordered to drop a bomb on a hospital and I did it, so I’d say you’re in good company.” A brick dropped into his gut, but she didn’t give him any room to comment on that, saying, “I don’t know where you thought you were going last night but I took over because I could see where you’d end up.” One tear spilled from her left eye and she made no move to stop it. “You’d be buried right next to Ollie, one more statistic showing how badly the VA is failing us, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

Before he knew what he was doing, his left arm was bent, his hand holding hers against his shoulder, and his right hand was brushing away her tears. Her cheek was velvet-soft. “I really don’t think you should get attached to me. It’s not safe.”

Peyton narrowed her eyes and he instantly realized his misstep. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t handle, Barnes. It was you on your knees with a garrote around your neck five minutes ago, remember? And if you think you’re going to break my heart, it’s been broken a hundred times before. _I don’t flinch._ ”

He sighed wearily. “I know that.” He hesitated, choking on the words, but finally told her the truth. “The people who held me are probably looking for me.” Peyton’s eyes went wide and he hurried on before she made any dangerous leaps forward. “Their organization is weak right now, which is slowing them down, but they have a US presence and if they do decide to focus on finding me, they won’t give up and they won’t care who they hurt.”

Peyton stared at him in horror for a moment, then she blinked and he could practically watch the gears turning behind her eyes. “Hydra. You were held by Hydra. You got free when SHIELD fell.” He nodded once and, inexplicably, her hand shifted to grasp his left arm. She must’ve seen his face tighten because she frowned sadly and asked, “What is it about the arm? Is it because it’s so new?”

“It’s not new,” he said hoarsely. Peyton looked confused and he could see her trying not to ask why Hydra hadn’t destroyed his prosthetic. Then, her eyes went wide in horror and her hand instantly recoiled from the arm. Instead of backing away in disgust or fear, though, she laid the hand on his shoulder, just on the human side of the connections. Her tears were running now and she murmured softly, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t voluntary. I’m so sorry…Jesus Christ…who does that?”

“Hydra,” he answered wearily.

“Well, fuck Hydra,” Peyton growled. “Those bastards don’t scare me. My family has been dealing with their shit since World War II.”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “How can that be? They’ve been dark since World War II.”

“That’s what they wanted everyone to think, sure, but not everyone believed them. Nobody is surprised that there are still idiots tattooing swastikas on their shaved heads, but we’re supposed to be shocked that the secret terrorist cell inside the Nazi party managed to survive? As long as there are idiots willing to trade their freedom for their security there will be a Hydra. And there’s one thing I can promise you, Barnes.”

“What?”

There were still tears on her cheeks, but she smirked through them. “No pilot is going to trade freedom for security and where other people see death threats, we see dares.”

Bucky shut his eyes tight in defeat. She was as stubborn as Steve. “I didn’t want to see anyone else get hurt when they came for me, that’s why I’m in the middle of nowhere…”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you picked some tough people to hang around with,” Peyton said simply. “Now get your ass in the shower. I want to find some food before we go to the concert.” Hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, so much like she had in the garage and yet so entirely different.

When she released him and went out to the hall while he remained frozen by shock, she took one look at him, rolled her eyes, and gestured at the bathroom. “Earth to Barnes. Come on, kitten, let’s go… _damn it!_ ” 

With his fresh clothes in one hand and Peyton’s towel in the other, Bucky took his time entering the bathroom, smirking and watching Peyton disappear totally naked again into her bedroom. Maybe this could be fine. Maybe it could be okay. He really wanted it to be okay.

\---------------------

He was running low on motel soap, but he wasn’t about to snitch some from Peyton or her dad and have them recognize the smell, so he worked with what he had and made a mental note to somehow acquire more, maybe a brand that worked better on his hair and didn’t leave soap scum on his stupid metal arm. He shaved using one of his knives, which were always razor-sharp, and managed to thereby give himself less of a homeless serial killer vibe, even if that was what he was. He didn’t need to look like what he was, after all. He was supposed to be in hiding and the people who’d know his face wouldn’t be fooled by a beard. He was better off focusing his efforts on not scaring the locals.

Not that Peyton had been scared. Although that could have something to do with her being an overconfident pilot who apparently saw death threats as dares. Maybe that was part of why she liked him, which was terrifying when he started thinking about the scary parts of him that she didn’t know about and what might happen if she found out.

When he was ready, he found Peyton in the kitchen talking to the Lt. Colonel who, judging by the sweat and engine grease on him, had just come in from the garage. “Come on,” the Lt. Colonel was pleading. “It’s steak night! I’ll even buy.”

“No!” Peyton hissed. “It’s not going to be a date, real or not, if my dad is with us. I’ll get a big steak and you can have my leftovers, okay?”

Bucky smirked and rolled his eyes at the exchange, approaching.

“Fine,” the Lt. Colonel conceded, visibly pouting. “Get the porterhouse. Then you can have the tenderloin side and I can have the strip side.”

“Deal.” Peyton jerked her head to face him, apparently catching him in her peripheral vision, and smirked. “Black ops! I’m calling it.”

He held up both hands in a sign of peace and shrugged. “I was just walking. Sorry if I snuck up on you.”

“If that’s ‘walking’ I’d be terrified of whatever you define as ‘sneaking,’” the Lt. Colonel said. “I’m going to agree on black ops. I’m not confident enough to risk money on that one.”

“A pilot who isn’t confident enough to make a bet?” Peyton said, baiting him and grinning lopsidedly as she did it. Her dad only glared at her.

“Steaks?” Bucky asked, his stomach apparently fully supportive of the idea even though he couldn’t remember the last steak he’d eaten, if he’d ever had one.

“Yeah, there’s a place that does really good steaks, among other things,” Peyton said. “It’s kind of the place to go around here.”

“Especially if you like porterhouses,” the Lt. Colonel said, glaring at Peyton. 

She only rolled her eyes at him, though. Then, she turned an appraising eye on Bucky. “You’re lucky we’re not going to some big city concert with rules about concealed weapons. How many knives do you have on you? I can tell you’re armed just from the way you’re standing…you’re more confident than usual.”

He shot a mild glare at her and produced one of said knives out of thin air, twirling it end over end between his fingers before making it disappear again. “I have more knives on me than a normal person would and I like it that way.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been Peyton’s eyes turning molten like she wanted to, what was the phrase he’d caught on tv? ‘Jump his bones?’ “Definitely black ops,” the Lt. Colonel said, glaring at Peyton again and apparently missing the look in her eyes. “I’m not afraid of anything, hotshot, I just know how to call a bluff.”

Peyton sighed and blinked hard to dispel whatever had come over her, then she gestured to the door. “Come on, Barnes. ‘Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, kiddos,” the Lt. Colonel said in a sing-song voice. “Have fun, don’t stay up too late, say ‘no’ to drugs unless they’re the good kind.”

Peyton stuck her tongue out at him and then they were gone and walking down the sidewalk to the lot behind the garage. It was twilight and the air was only just starting to cool. Peyton had on a low-cut, flowing blouse on that danced in the light breeze and a jean jacket tied around her waist. She led the way to a purple muscle car that he recognized as a 70’s era Challenger, an appropriate vehicle for a fighter pilot. She just barely smirked as she got behind the wheel and he had a feeling that whatever was under the hood didn’t even resemble factory-issue. 

The restaurant was on the edge of town and Peyton got more than a few lingering looks walking in on his arm and sitting across from him. He struggled over the menu before ultimately deciding to give up on deciphering the various cuts of meat and order the one that best resembled the size he wanted. For the cook, he chose medium because it sounded like it couldn’t really be wrong. Peyton ordered the porterhouse she and her dad had discussed, giving him a withering look when he chuckled at her.

It was very nice, certainly the best food he’d eaten in a long time, if not ever, and the company was fantastic, even if they were occasionally interrupted by locals greeting Peyton and making small talk or seeking advice on cars, lawnmowers, or even snowblowers. He could only assume that snowblowers did exactly what the name suggested, though he’d never been somewhere the people felt the need to use machines to move snow, not even Siberia. One man apparently had discovered a rat’s nest inside his snowblower and Peyton cringed as she described the potential problems the rats may have caused. The man left looking forlorn, though he agreed to bring the snowblower to the garage so Peyton could evaluate the damage.

Peyton reached for the check when it came, but he snatched it before she could. She glared at him across the table and he just shrugged. “It’s not a date if I don’t pick up the tab. And you did buy me an awful lot of alcohol last night.” She relented and he paid with Hydra’s money, then they left, Peyton carrying her Styrofoam box of leftovers.

The concert hall was indeed a barn about ten miles outside of town. By the time they got there, there was music flowing from inside that he identified as ‘country’ and wild-colored lights illuminated silhouettes entering and exiting the barn freely. They parked and walked the rest of the way to the barn, where a guy a little smaller than Bucky greeted Peyton with a smile and gave them both wristbands without asking for ID, much to Bucky’s relief. He hadn’t had an ID since he’d been declared dead in 1945.

The music inside the barn was deafening, but being able to feel the bass inside his chest felt phenomenal, like he was more alive and controlled now by the music instead of his own anxiety-ruled thoughts. Peyton saw the change in him immediately and grinned. “Beer or dancing?” she asked, shouting to be heard over the music. He decided not to tell her that he could probably hear her just fine at a normal volume.

“Beer. Not all of us are fearless pilots.”

They drank two rounds and listened to and watched the band from the edge of the crowd, which was packed tight with laughing, screaming people gyrating together. He was definitely not familiar with whatever this thing was they were doing and calling dancing, though it distinctly resembled fucking upright with clothes on. Seeing his expression, Peyton cackled in laughter. “You really haven’t danced in a while, have you?” she asked. “I’ll bet you haven’t danced since prom when the chaperones were watching everyone and reminding you to ‘leave room for Jesus.’”

Bucky snorted, remembering the prom he’d dragged Steve to a few lifetimes ago which, indeed, had looked nothing like this and had involved plenty of room for Jesus between dance partners. “I’ve danced a few times since then, but never like this. You have?”

Her eyes went molten again and she finished her beer and discarded the red plastic cup, then reached for his right hand. “I’ll teach you. I promise it’s stupid easy and you’ll like it. You can’t possibly mess up.”

He sighed, already weary at the thought of enduring this anxiety-inducing hell, but he decided to humor her, knowing that at the very least, dancing with her like _that_ would mark her as unavailable to any male in the vicinity, which was the whole goal of this. He finished his beer and discarded the cup as she had, then accepted her hand. She grinned mischievously and tugged him with her towards the mass of people and the stage.

Closer to the speakers, the bass thumped louder and the music swelled around them along with the moving bodies. It was so much warmer and he could already feel sweat beading on the back of his neck. He hated that he had to wear long sleeves even in conditions like this. Peyton reeled herself into him and put her hands on his hips, eyes on him the whole time. “If something bothers you, just move me, okay? I get it.” she said, just barely loud enough that he could hear her but no one else could. He nodded uncertainly and she minimized the distance between their bodies, nudging his hips with her hands to move with him. There was maybe an inch between them and the space felt like a live wire, crackling and burning with a magnetic pull. Her eyes were wide and bright, lit up by the swirling green and pink lights. She was smiling and he loved the curve of her lips when she smiled and the pout when she didn’t. Because he couldn’t stand it anymore, he placed one hand on her hip and the other on her lower back and pressed her to him, crushing that inch between them to nothing. Her eyes went molten again and he knew the feeling, reveling in the soft swells of certain parts of her and the hard planes of others. One of her hands moved slowly to his upper back and hooked on his shoulder while the other slid up to lay flat on his chest. She was standing between his feet now and he realized that he needed more, that this was so damn good but it wasn’t enough. She must have read it in his eyes or his expression, because a moment later, she sidestepped and was straddling his leg, grinding her body against his. A shudder ran through them both at the same time and he encouraged every move she made with his hand on her lower back, pressing her closer every time she moved into him. He could feel her thigh flexing with every move, pressed against him so close to where he needed that friction. Even hotter was the way her eyes had dilated and the way her face changed every time she ground against him, betraying how good she felt from rubbing against him like that. On impulse, he laid both hands on her hips and lifted and spun her, putting her back to him and pulling her tight to him again. She moaned, _moaned_ , and the sound went right to his cock and then they were moving together and he understood why these people were doing this and why they called it dancing. It was dancing, moving together like this and timing it to the music, letting the bass move them, and yet it felt like foreplay, _was_ foreplay, sex with clothes between them. He knew she could feel how hard he was against her and yet her fingers twined into his on her hips and she moved against him firmly enough that he could feel her shiver every now and then. She’d left her jacket in the car and he was grateful right then because he wanted as little between them as possible. In fact, their jeans felt like way too much clothing and he was sorely tempted to slide his hands up her body and get ahold of those breasts he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since he’d first seen them, kneeling at her feet with a garrote around his neck. Unable to do anything about any of that, he settled for continuing what they were doing and adding putting his mouth on her neck, laying soft teasing kisses up and down it. She moaned again and tilted her head to give him better access. He took the hint and didn’t stop, varying the pace and fierceness of the kisses to drag more moans out of her. When he added a very gentle bite, no more than the barely-there pressure of teeth, she whimpered and tightened her hands on his. “Not much harder,” she gasped. “Fuck, that feels good, though.” When he did it again, obeying her request on how hard to bite, a shudder wracked her entire body and rippled through his by extension.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore and murmured in her ear, “Let’s get out of here.” She nodded eagerly and they extricated themselves from each other and wound their way out of the crowd. The open doorway was easy to find by following the fresh breeze that broke through the haze of warmth and sweat. Outside, the air was cool and he briefly worried about Peyton without her jacket, but she breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Phew. It was hot in there. I don’t know how you survived with long sleeves.”

He chuckled. “It was a close call, but I was motivated.” She grinned and took his hand, his left hand, and they walked like that back to the Challenger. 

They were barely onto the road when his hand found her thigh in the dark and squeezed lightly, then began tracing patterns. Peyton breathed shakily and gave him a mock disparaging look. “If you distract me and I wreck this car, you owe me a new one, Barnes.”

He grinned at that and stilled his hand, but didn’t retract it. They travelled in silence, the tension crackling between them the whole way. When they got back to the lot behind the garage, he only had time to unfasten his seatbelt because he did it before she cut the engine. Then, her mouth was on his, hot and wet and soft, enveloping him, at once both soothing and hungry. He hadn’t been kissed since 1943, before which he’d been with plenty of girls that he remembered through a hazy fog he hadn’t really cared to break through, but it hadn’t felt like this, that he knew. He wanted her, he needed her, most of all, he _knew_ her, and it was intoxicating. He deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing not unlike how they’d danced at the concert, slow and lingering and so painfully erotic. With both hands on her now, he dragged her to him, suddenly glad that the Challenger was old enough to have a bench seat in the front. She allowed the shift in position and then some, straddling his lap and burying her hands in his hair as they kept kissing. He never wanted to stop kissing her.

Peyton grabbed his right hand and dragged it up her body, pressing his palm to her breast. A shudder went through him and her eagerly took the hint, exploring her and seeking out the spots that made her moan and whimper. When he slipped his hand beneath the low neckline of her blouse and inside her bra, she gasped and ground her core down against him, nearly shattering his control. He had to grit his teeth and screw his eyes shut to hold onto it and once he had it back, he tested it by taking her nipple between his fingers and gently squeezing and rolling it, experimenting until he got her to gasp again and then moan the way she had when they danced. “Fuck, Barnes…” she groaned.

“Call me James when we’re like this,” he said on impulse. When she whimpered the name moments later, _James_ , he was glad he’d made the request because the sound of his first name on her tongue when she was so wrapped up in pleasure made him feel like a fucking god. 

Peyton took his left hand in hers to move as she had his right, but he automatically fought her and kept it right where it was on her hip. “That hand isn’t gentle, beautiful,” he whispered to her, bleeding inside as he said the words. “It wasn’t built to be.”

In the silence, Peyton carefully removed his leather glove and, against his better judgment, he allowed her to lift the metal hand. Eyes on his, she kissed those fingertips one-by-one. “I don’t care what it was built for,” she said softly. “That’s not what it is now. Whatever Hydra intended with that arm isn’t you.”

Emboldened by her beautiful, confident words, he reached out so slowly and carefully and, at last, touched her cheek with his cybernetic hand, watching her face carefully. Her eyelids fluttered and she _leaned into it._ “See? You worry too much,” she whispered.

“And you don’t worry enough.” He leaned in and whispered directly in her ear, “You wanted to know how many knives I have on me? I have seven, including the one I shaved with this afternoon like the psycho I am, and even tangled up in you like this I can get at all of them easily. You wouldn’t have a chance.”

She grinned crookedly. “You say that like it’s a warning, but it’s so damn hot.” Now she whispered in _his_ ear. “You have no idea how wet it made me watching you twirl that knife.”

He blinked, stunned and a bit turned on himself by how much she liked these parts of him that he’d thought would be terrifying and repulsive to anyone who found them out. Every time he tried to warn her off, she took it as a reason to dig her heels in deeper. Bucky produced a knife from nowhere, a different one than the one she’d already seen because he knew she’d notice the difference, and she lit up as she watched him twirl and twist it. When he flicked it towards her point-first and caught it an instant later, she flinched, then grinned with delight. He smirked at her, loving that look on her face, and made the knife vanish again. “I thought you didn’t flinch.”

“Fuck off, kitten.” Then she was kissing him and he was moving both hands over her fearlessly, hungrily. A few minutes later, she rid herself of her blouse, hissing when it proved uncooperative for a moment and he laughed at her. Once it was gone, though, he made it up to her by kissing his way down her chest and unclasping her bra along the way so he could suck one of her gorgeous breasts into his mouth. She cried out softly and tugged on his hair hard enough that for a moment he thought she meant to pull him back, but then she was pushing his head down on her. He couldn’t help a smirk before he obeyed, kissing and licking and sucking at her until she was moaning and writhing in his lap. She tugged at his left hand again and this time he allowed her to lead him right to the button of her jeans. 

He brought his mouth back up to hers and left his right hand to tease and knead at her breasts while he kissed her and, with his left hand, unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. Then, he retracted his hand and she whimpered. “Shh,” he soothed her. “I’ve got you. I want to feel you…this hand only feels pressure.” He slid his right hand down her gorgeous body then, all soft skin, smooth curves, and hard muscle, and right down inside her panties. She cried out and he groaned, gritting his teeth to hold himself back as he stroked and explored her sinfully soft skin that was so moist and warm and slick. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed. “You’re so wet for me. I bet I could bury myself in you with one thrust. Fuck, I want you.”

“I want you too,” she moaned. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and just barely pressed down. “Please…please, James….”

“No begging, beautiful…telling me you want me is more than enough.” He buried two fingers inside her then, wrenching a cry from her. He paused to let her adjust, but her body shuddered and rocked against his hand, craving more, so he gave it to her, thrusting and curling and exploring, dragging so many lovely sounds from lips swollen and pink from kissing. He kissed those lips again, insatiable, and when she tugged on his hair, he added a third finger, wrenching another cry from her that left fingernail-shaped bruises in his shoulder. “Do you want to come like this, beautiful?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “I can’t wait anymore. I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he bent his head to her breasts again and sucked and teased at her while he worked her with his hand. When he dragged one finger along _that spot_ , her body went as taut as a guitar string and her lips parted in a silent scream. The look of agony on her face that so suddenly morphed into bliss was so fucking beautiful to watch and when she came down, he supported her quivering body with both hands and laid soft kisses up her chest and then over her face, cheeks, forehead, temples, eyelids, nose, lips.

“You’ve killed me,” she said weakly. “Fuck your knives, all you needed was your fingers and that tongue of yours.”

He chuckled at that and pulled her forward so she slumped against him, her head on his shoulder. He could get used to this…her warmth draped over him, her breath on his skin, the smell of sex in the air. This was probably the closest to Heaven he’d ever been.

It only took her a few minutes before she recovered enough to sit upright. When she managed to sit still without him propping her up, she studied him with an assessing look. “When’s the last time you got tested, James?”

He hated that word, ’test,’ and the images it threatened to drag forward, but he knew what she meant and answered honestly, “I had a clean bill of health when I enlisted and I haven’t been with anyone since.”

Peyton smiled wickedly. “I was hoping you’d say that. I really hate the taste of latex.”

Before his stunned brain could work out a response to that, Peyton slithered to her knees between his feet, barely fitting in front of him on the floor of the car. Eyes on him the whole time, watching his reaction in that careful way she always did, she unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped him, and took him in hand. The warm pressure of her hand instantly had him groaning and his hips stuttering, craving more. “Fuck, you’re close, baby,” she groaned. “We’ll have to do this again when I can give you more time.”

“Please,” he groaned, the word coming out instinctively. “Please...I need more…please…”

“No begging from you either. I’ve got you, baby.” His heart clenched. Did she know what that meant? He had wasted so much oxygen _begging_ for things from Hydra, usually for a reprieve from pain or for another day before being put in cryo. He had begged so many times too for his name, for the mother he couldn’t remember now, for Steve, and for death. They had never heeded him, not once, but he’d screamed his throat raw over and over anyway. For seventy years, his world had been narrowed down to a power struggle where the powerful stood on the hands of the powerless and listened to them beg. Peyton was telling him that he never needed to beg from her because she was his partner. She wasn’t going to stand on his hands and she wasn’t going to let someone else do it either. 

Her mouth was on him, then, wrenching whispered obscenities from his throat as she took him down between her perfect lips, deep into her mouth. His hips stuttered again and she paused while he recovered, but didn’t back off. He wound the fingers of his right hand into her hair, not to move her in any way, just to have something to hang onto, like a lifeline. She did a trick with her tongue that he was momentarily convinced was witchcraft and he came hard and fast, his vision going white and his metal hand curling into a fist in the air so it wouldn’t crush anything, the plates whirring and grinding.

When he was gasping for air and capable of seeing straight again, he looked down at Peyton and watched her tongue flick out to lick her lower lip as she smirked, obviously pleased with herself. He helped her crawl back into his lap and, between shaky breaths, he said, “You talk about my tongue…fucking hell. I think that’s the hardest I’ve come in my life.”

Peyton laughed, still smiling broadly. “If you liked that, we definitely need a repeat performance so you can see, well, _feel_ , all of my tricks.”

He groaned and kissed her sloppy and lazy, tasting himself on her tongue and not caring a damn bit. Steve had broken his chains in D.C., but it was Peyton who was giving him back everything else and it was having everything else that would make life worthwhile. He still worried for her, but right then he was far more concerned with determining how to thank her and making sure that this night, which was the best he had in his memory, happened again. So, there was really only one answer. “Sign me up.”


	4. Stay With Me

_Cold. Frigid, wet, bone-deep cold that made his head and his joints ache. Horrible, nausea-inducing cold. Hitting the floor and barely even feeling it because he was numb with all the cold. His hair stiff with frost, his skin sheened with it and shivering as it turned to water droplets lingering on him._

_Put him in the chair._

_No. Anything but that. Beg. Beg for mercy. Beg for physical pain instead, anything else. Take his fingernails again, break his bones again, peel his skin back again and watch it regrow. Beg and scream. He was too weak from the cold to fight, so he could only plead with them, put his voice in their evil ears that heard but never listened._

_Hands on him, hands that were hot compared to his skin, that made his skin look blue by comparison. It was blue. They dragged him, boots heavy on concrete, knees dragging on it._

_Put him in the chair._

_Please. Please, no. Anything else. I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll take the shot. I always take the shot when you ask. I almost have my name…starts with a J or maybe a B…almost have someone else’s name too. They have blue eyes. There were green eyes too, lovely green eyes bright with laughter and framed by golden hair. I don’t want to forget…want to remember, want to have something that’s mine, anything. Please. Please, don’t. Please._

_The metal bars came down. The halo came with them, the metal pads descending over his face, holding him down, preparing to deliver the electrical current right where they wanted it, right where it would do the kind of damage they wanted._

_Wipe him, start over._

_That was all it ever was. Wipe him, start over._

_Please…_

_He could break the bars with his left arm. He had to try. He could fight them off. He had to fight, had to keep these memories…._

Bucky lashed out with his left arm, but found it bound and held down. Then, there was a weight across his hips and fingers twined into the ones on his right hand, holding him firmly down even as his assailant drew a soothing pattern on the side of his finger with their thumb. “James. Come on, James, it’s Peyton. Time to wake up. Come on, James.”

James. That was…his name.

_Peyton._

His vision came rushing back and he was gasping for air as he looked up at her in the darkened room, straddling him in the bed, green eyes wide with concern, not fear. He looked to his left arm and recognized her garrote wrapped around his wrist and the loops around her fisted fingers, knuckles white. The plates in the arm were whirring and grinding in distress and, though he could still feel the sparks of the chair and the clinging chill of cryo, he forced himself to calm down enough that the plates stilled. When they did, Peyton immediately released the garrote, stretched her fingers, then laid her hand on his cheek, claiming his attention again. “Hey,” she said softly. “You with me now?”

Still fighting for air, he nodded once. She looked over her shoulder and he followed her eyes to see the Lt. Colonel standing in the doorway with a rifle in his hands, every bit the military man in that moment. When he met Bucky’s eyes over her shoulder, he relaxed and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Peyton breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging, then looked to Bucky again with sadness in her eyes. He could see the words competing for precedence on her lips, but finally, she bit her lower lip and forced herself to say, “Let’s get you out of that shirt. You’re soaked and that can’t be helping.”

He wanted to refuse so badly, wanted to hide the fucking arm and the fucking scars, but his teeth were actually starting to chatter and it felt exactly like the miserable hours that followed cryo, like his dream. He nodded once again and Peyton sat back, offering gentle hands to help him sit up and then peel the shirt over his head. He waited for the exclamation of horror or disgust, but it didn’t come and when he could bear to look at Peyton, her eyes were locked on his scars and full of tears and rage. Her hand shook as she reached out to trace around one branch that was carved particularly far across his chest and when he shuddered at the contact, she immediately drew her hand back and whispered, “I want to kill whoever did this to you.”

“They’re already dead, unfortunately,” he whispered. “I could tell you all of their names, but that won’t change anything.”

Peyton met his eyes then and, softly, said, “Can I stay with you? I don’t think I could sleep otherwise knowing what’s in your head.”

He stiffened, instantly on the defensive. “What did I say?”

She shut her eyes tight. “You were speaking Russian. My dad doesn’t know it, but I do from when I was stationed in Eastern Europe and Syria. _Not again. I don’t remember anything. I’ll do it. Don’t wipe me. Please, not again._ Hydra was doing human experiments…I know that from people who were there and saw the evidence. They had a way to forcibly brainwash you, didn’t they? Drugs?”

All the words he considered stuck in his throat and choked him for what felt like forever, but he didn’t think she would judge him or hate him for this. Finally, he answered, “Electricity.”

Peyton’s eyes snapped open in horror and her shaking hands moved to cradle his face. Tears flooded her eyes again and her jaw hardened. “Those bastards _electrocuted_ you to _wipe_ your mind. Wipe it of what?”

Bucky sighed, suddenly so very tired and weak, and leaned his forehead against hers, eyelids fallen shut. “Everything.”

Peyton continued to silently shake for what felt like an eternity. Then, in a broken voice he’d never heard from her, she whispered, “Let me stay with you. I’ll give you space if you want it, just don’t make me leave you alone right now.”

He didn’t want to be alone anyway. He felt raw and vulnerable and afraid, afraid of his memories and Hydra and himself. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her tight to him, then slowly fell back on the bed so she was laid across his chest, her head on his shoulder. Her legs were still slung around his hips and as she adjusted them, he looked down to realize that they were bare. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he was pretty sure she was only wearing a t-shirt and panties. He reached past her and pulled the comforter up to her shoulders. She sighed at the warmth and stilled, the pressure of her body warm and soft and safe over his. He shut his eyes and tried not to see the inside of the lab he’d been dreaming about, focusing on his fingers tracing circles on her back, on the smell of her hair and the apple-scented shampoo she used, on her hands on his shoulder and chest, small and gentle but not at all delicate. He kissed her hair, soft and silken under his lips, and she whimpered very softly, “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry. Please stay with me. I can’t watch you walk away knowing where you’ll end up. Please.”

Now he was the one with tears in his eyes and he held her a little tighter. He’d never expected to be wanted again by anyone. He’d thought that getting away from Hydra or destroying Hydra would consume what remained of his fucked-up life, that there would be nothing and no one else. But here she was, begging him to stay with her. “I’ll stay as long as you let me. It’s not safe for you, though, baby. These people don’t care who they have to go through to get what they want.”

Peyton pressed a kiss to his collarbone. Then, in a vicious growl, she said, “They might learn something if they try to go through me. They are _not_ taking you back, not if I have any say in it. I don’t think I told you my call sign. I received it from my dad when I got my orders the same way he’d received it twenty years prior and the same way my grandpa received it forty years prior.”

“Your family shares a call sign?”

“My great-grandpa, Leon Lawfley, got it from his friends in the War. He was a recon pilot and he earned the name by bailing out of a dead plane thirty miles into Nazi territory. He infiltrated a base alone with no spy training and made it back to Allied territory in one piece with information that crippled Hydra. That call sign means that we don’t flinch in the face of death, we don’t back down from challenges, and we spit in the eyes of tyrants like Hydra. If they do come for you, I don’t care what they’re armed with or how many they bring. They’ll wish they never came.”

“What’s the call sign?” When Peyton didn’t answer, he knew why, so he kissed her hair again and said, “Peyton, it’s still your call sign, even if you’re not active duty. That’s your sign as a Lawfley and a as pilot, not as a soldier.”

She exhaled as though his words were a huge relief to hear. Then, she answered, “‘Blizzard.’ Grandpa Leon’s plane froze up when he was flying into a blizzard over Nazi Germany. He bailed out in whiteout conditions with no clue where he would land, walked two miles to find the base he was reconning, and when he had the information, he walked thirty miles back to Allied France. From the time he took off to the time he walked back into camp, more than two feet of snow had fallen. That’s the short version, anyway.”

 _Blizzard._ Of all the potential call signs in the world, it was a winter reference. This was the strangest day in his memory and it just kept getting stranger. It did suit her, though, and her family. It was indomitable, untamable, and fearless. “Peyton ‘Blizzard’ Lawfley,” he tried out. “It suits you. Flows well too.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice warmer and softer suddenly. She shifted on him to bury her face in the crook of his neck and she fit so damn perfect there. He only had to tilt his head just barely and he was able to kiss her temple.

“Go to sleep, beautiful,” he whispered to her. He pressed his fingers just a bit harder into her back as he drew those circles, massaging her muscles until she began to slowly melt and exhale wearily. “Just sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Apparently, those were the magic words. The moment he uttered them, she dropped off into a deep sleep.

Blizzard. Was it an incredibly strange coincidence? A mind trick? Was he just hallucinating all of this? It wouldn’t be the first time Hydra manufactured memories for him, but this would be the most extensive episode. Surely, they wouldn’t want him to have memories like this and certainly not about someone like Peyton, so fierce and full of free-will, passion, independence, and all of the things Hydra despised. No, this was real.

Her hand twitched and slid across him, stopping to curve around his left bicep, her fingers a barely-there pressure on the metal plates. He stared down at her in wide-eyed amazement, but she was still fast-asleep. She could just be a heavy sleeper who didn’t realize where her hand was and he felt the need to test that, blowing cool air on the ends of her hair like a breeze. Her muscles twitched, her hand _tightened_ around his arm, and her breathing stalled. In her ear, he whispered, “We’re safe. Sleep.” At that, her muscles slowly relaxed back into sleep, a soft exhale leaving her lips that might have been a word, might have even been his name, but he refused to think too hard about that. That was definitely too good to be true.

Even in sleep, she was protective of him, not afraid of him, right down to that fucking arm that Hydra drilled into his mind as being a weapon, a blunt object, a cleaver to a butcher, nothing more. There was a reason they hadn’t built it to have any sensation but pressure. It had to be useful as a tool for reloading firearms, strangling witnesses, and other such tasks, but it didn’t belong to _him_ and it was not _his arm_ , it was a _weapon_ granted by _Hydra_ , nothing more or less.

Apparently, Peyton didn’t see it that way. If she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t be touching it, certainly not grabbing onto it in sleep.

He wasn’t about to accept that he was safe from Hydra just because Peyton insisted it was true. Not at all. But she didn’t want him to leave and, well…he really didn’t want to. Especially in that moment, holding her draped across him like a security blanket with her scent on him and her breath on his throat. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He’d stay. For now, anyway, until she found out what he’d done and sent him packing. But right now, she wanted him, and it was the best feeling in his memory. Maybe there had been things that felt this good before the War, but he didn’t remember them. If she wanted him to stay, that was all he wanted too.

But if he was staying, there were tasks he had to complete. The truck needed to be dropped in Indianapolis like he’d planned and traded out for something equally useful for hauling his veritable armory of stolen Hydra weapons. He needed to scope out the town. He hadn’t yet because there hadn’t been a point before now when he’d planned to stay for more than a few more hours. If he was staying indefinitely, he needed to know every street and back alley by heart, have exits and entrances mapped for every building he might enter, and lightly stalk all of the important community members: police, politicians, bar and restaurant owners, and the people Peyton came into most frequent contact with. He also needed an income. Stealing from Hydra was risky, but had no real moral cost, at least in his eyes. If he planned to stay, though, he was going to run out of cash and he couldn’t risk stealing, nor did he want to. There must be someone in town willing to pay cash for manual labor. As he mapped the town, he could keep an eye out for buildings in need of repair or remodeling and there were probably plenty of folks like Zugen who couldn’t take care of their properties. The guy screamed heart-attack-waiting-to-happen. Maybe such people would be willing to pay someone else to do the work. The Lt. Colonel could certainly point him towards some likely contacts, assuming he wanted Bucky around after tonight. He had lowered the gun and shut the door on his way out, which was quite a demonstration of trust.

The night crawled on and his mind spun on with it, making lists of tasks, of items he needed to acquire, of contacts he needed to make. All of it would take time to settle, at least a few days. He was starting to doubt himself and think it wasn’t a good idea at all when Peyton sighed in her sleep and her body rocked against his. She barely moved, but she hit him just right that he saw stars and clutched her just a little tighter, mind immediately bouncing back to the things they’d done to each other in her car and laughing while they debated whether or not to move to the backseat to continue things. They had ultimately gone to their separate beds instead on his insistence. He let her think he was being gentlemanly and maybe he was, but it was really that as badly as he wanted to act on all of the fantasies he’d acquired about Peyton in the last twenty-four hours, it wouldn’t have been fair to her. He didn’t want her to ever feel unsafe or manipulated with him and if her put her in that vulnerable of a position, that was where she’d end up. Putting his hand in her panties and his mouth on her breasts was bad enough. But every step towards the spare bedroom had been agony, falling asleep had been nearly impossible, and now here she was twisted around him, making sighs and shifts like that, clutching his left arm, all while asleep, the most vulnerable possible position she could be in.

He so badly wanted her to be right about all of this…to be right about _him._

When Bucky exhaled, his right hand dropped off to the side and unintentionally landed on Peyton’s bare thigh, which she’d curled up against his hip. He froze instantly, hoping to avoid waking her, and when she didn’t wake, he allowed himself to flatten his hand and spread his fingers out wide, drinking in the feel of her skin, so soft and smooth. She was warm from sleep and from being cocooned between him and the covers.

He was still marveling over how warm and soft she was when the world started to slip away.

\-----------------

Bucky awoke to a weight on his chest, the weight of a person, and to warm breath on his throat. In retrospect, it should have put him on guard, but it didn’t. He knew immediately who it was and how they’d gotten there. It took only a tilt of his head to feel her hair on his lips and to press a kiss to the top of her head and, when he did, she sighed and the leg she had around him tightened just a bit. In a half-asleep voice, Peyton murmured into his neck, “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for insisting.”

She sat up enough to look at him. He opened his eyes and found her gazing down at him looking so sad and nervous. It was so unlike her, but it _was_ her, blond hair haloed by the shards of sunlight filtering through the blinds, covers draping down from her shoulders and the Blue Angels t-shirt she wore, the chain of her dogtags just visible along the collar of her shirt. She opened her mouth to say something and, knowing from the look on her face that he couldn’t bear to hear whatever it was, he laid one finger across her lips until they met again, silenced. “It’s okay, angel,” he whispered, the endearment a surprise, but one that seemed to fit so well.

“No, it’s not. What they took from you…”

“I’m getting those things back, angel, but I can’t think about it right now.” Peyton quieted and he moved his finger from her lips to stroke her cheek instead. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it with you or that I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. It’s just…” he couldn’t finish that sentence and his eyelids slammed shut, squeezing tears onto his cheeks. His soul felt like an exposed nerve, singing with pain at the tiniest breeze, god forbid the tiniest pressure.

Peyton wiped the tears away with her thumbs, then very gently stroked his forehead and temples until the pain dulled to a hum at the back of his mind and the muscles in his face softened. “You came directly from a Hydra cell in D.C., didn’t you? Did you report in? Call family? Get treatment?”

The pain came roaring back and he answered through gritted teeth, “My CO’s are dead. My family is dead. And, legally speaking, I’m dead too. My best friend is probably looking for me, but he doesn’t know me anymore. He’s not going to like who they made me.”

“Shh…” Peyton pressed slow kisses across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and back up, across each eyelid. The pain began to recede again and his muscles were soothed too. “I think you might be wrong about him, partly because you’re wrong about you. I didn’t know you before, so maybe I don’t see what he’ll see, but I like you for who you are, Barnes. You’re a good man. Kind, intelligent, honorable, protective. I don’t think Hydra put any of those things in you.” She kissed his lips once softly and it felt like breathing in sunlight. “You didn’t answer me about treatment. How long have you actually been out? Have you let anyone look you over…?”

“Can’t,” he said right as his throat began to close up and the images flooded in, images of white coats, needles, metal carts full of bloody instruments, and labs built of white tile and metal spattered with blood. His fisted the covers in one hand in an effort to hang onto this reality without breaking anything in it. He could hear their voices in his head, could feel the frigid air and the white-hot needles full of serum and poison and drugs and god-knew-what-else.

“James,” Peyton whispered against his lips. “I need you to breathe. Stay here with me…focus on me, James. This is real.” He felt her hand wrap around his fist, holding it shut. “Focus on that fabric. It’s cotton, soft from being washed so many times, warm from you and I sleeping in it last night. It’s real. And your clothes…you slept in your jeans, belt and all. I know because your belt buckle was digging into my hip for most of the night, not that I cared. And there’s me, too. Those are my legs all tangled up around you. This my hand around yours, and this one here is mine too, on your chest. Can you feel where my hair is hitting your skin? That’s all me and I’m not going to hurt you. Can you tell me something else you can feel? Or something you smell or hear?”

She had been bringing him back a little at a time with each sensation she brought into focus. It was like she’d thrown him a life preserver and was hauling him to shore hand-over-hand. He was so close and he so badly wanted to believe her, wanted to know that this was the reality, that he was lying here in the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in with the most incredible woman he’d ever met draped across him, not strapped to a cold metal table watching them inject the paralytic that would stop him from trying to fight. No. He wanted to be here, with her. 

Well, if he was here with her, he knew what he wanted, and if he wasn’t here, he knew his mind with all of its holes burned through by electricity and chemicals wouldn’t be able to fake it. So, he kissed her.

She was real.

The soft press of her lips to his, the electric tingle as they first met, the taste of her lower lip when he licked it, the tiny gasp that left her as she opened her mouth to allow him entry, the intoxicating complexity and simplicity of their lips brushing and their tongues dancing. All of that was _real_ , without a doubt. His mind was not capable of manufacturing that and he didn’t think Hydra was either. They had never put anything in his head this visceral, this full of sensation and emotion. His heart was racing under her hand, his lungs struggling to keep up, his soul and his body together begging for more as his mind rejoiced that _this was real._

Between kisses, he murmured to Peyton, “How about something I taste?”

“That works for me.”

\---------------

They made out for a little longer, but Peyton insisted that she needed to get to the garage despite it being a Sunday and that she needed food of some kind before that. He spent a few minutes trying to keep her from leaving the bed, but she managed to wriggle free like an eel and he finally let her go, getting up too and turning to find his shirt from last night.

He heard Peyton go stock-still, definitely a bad sign, and he turned back again to find her staring at his metal arm. He froze too, waiting. Finally, she asked, “Barnes…why did they put a Soviet star on your shoulder?”

He had a partial truth he could tell her, but she wasn’t going to like it. “Because Hydra sent me to them for conditioning.”

“That’s not possible. That would make you my dad’s age at least and you’re not.” Her eyes met his, confused and already working up to angry again. This woman had a temper and he was becoming more and more sure that when Hydra came for him, if Peyton stood in the way there would be a hell of a lot of blood spilled. “Barnes. What did they do?”

That look in her eyes…and her stories about her family’s involvement with Hydra…. “I think you already know.”

Her next words were biting but spoken in a soft, measured tone. “I’m not going to make assumptions and I’m not going to give you words to use to lie and make me feel better. Tell me the truth.”

He tried to take a deep breath to steel himself, but it was choppy and only made him feel worse. He shut his eyes and forced himself to answer anyway because he didn’t want to lie to her and she deserved to know. “They wanted to keep me from aging or breaking conditioning and they had a way to do it. They…” he tripped over the words and had to shut his eyes tight and grit his teeth against the creeping chill that threatened to curl around him just thinking of it. “After they attached the arm, I spent most of my time with them in and out of cryofreeze. That’s why my CO’s and my family are gone and why I’m declared dead. They had me for decades.”

For a moment, Peyton remained still with shock. Then, in a choked voice, she asked, “How long? Barnes…when did you serve? It would have to have been the Gulf War or earlier. Were you in Central America?” He shook his head and heard her shift from one foot to the other. “Jesus…Vietnam?” He shook his head again. This conversation might very well expose who he was, saying ‘no’ to Vietnam would have him serving before 1960, but at this point he wasn’t sure it mattered. “That was a really long time ago.” He nodded to acknowledge that, still waiting for the hammer to fall. Then, Peyton said softly, “Come sit with me.” He opened his eyes to see her gesture to the bed and he followed her, muscles stiff with distress. They sat across from each other and she reached a little more than halfway towards him. He hesitated, but met the offered hand with his own. She gently squeezed his hand and began to stroke his fingers as she spoke. “I’m going to tell you the rest of the story about my great-grandfather. Leon “Blizzard” Lawfley started as a pilot making bombing runs near the Western front, but when they saw how well he performed on stealth missions, they promoted him to a reconnaissance pilot. He was flying thirty miles over enemy lines when his engine froze up during a blizzard and he had to bail out of his plane. He knew he was only about two miles from the base he’d been targeting and he had two options. He could try to walk back to the Western front with nothing but a handgun and a pocketknife, or he could rewrite the mission parameters and try to infiltrate the base.”

“And because he was a pilot, he chose the riskier option.”

Peyton nodded. “He took out one of their perimeter guys and stole his uniform and got in with nothing but his handgun, the guy’s Nazi-issue rifle, and a passable German vocabulary. He bluffed his way through to the war room, which is where he realized where he really was.”

Realization dawned on him. “He wasn’t in a Nazi base. He was in a _Hydra_ base.”

She nodded. “He knew the value of Hydra information to the war effort. Not everyone did, but he was a recon pilot, so he was in the right circles. He threw caution to the wind and ransacked the place until he found something worth sending a telegram over and he did send one before he escaped the base and started the walk he’d first considered. He knew what happened to prisoners in Hydra camps and he was brave but not stupid.”

“What did he find?”

“He found a memo discussing the travel plans of Hydra’s lead scientist, Arnim Zola.” That caused his heart to trip right over itself as he tried to contain his reaction. He’d known it had been a lone recon guy who got Zola’s itinerary, but after Azzano he’d been running on autopilot, just following Steve and focusing solely on keeping his idiot friend from getting shot. He hadn’t asked questions. Peyton continued, “That information made it to the SR and they dispatched the Howling Commandoes, who were leading the Hydra missions. Because of him, they captured Zola and he gave up information that led to Hydra’s defeat. When Grandpa Leon got to talking about Zola, though, his whole demeanor would always change. In exchange for the information he gave and for joining the SR’s science team, the SR granted Zola amnesty. Leon spit fire over it because one of the Commandoes died to capture Zola, but he was just a pilot to them and they didn’t care what he thought about it. He even offered to fly a mission to recover the guy’s body because the Commandoes had complained that he deserved a hero’s funeral, but the SR refused. The Commandoes were basically a black ops team and it was understood that they never had backup and that they had officially never been wherever they were sent. Bucky Barnes was coded as KIA and they never went back for him. My great-grandpa felt responsible for it.” There was a pretty real chance that he was going to be sick at any moment and he knew she could see it because it was way too strong for him to hide. Slowly, Peyton said, “Bucky Barnes’s given name was James and he looked a lot like you. I’ve seen the pictures. I thought it was a coincidence when you first told me your name, ‘James Barnes’ is not that distinctive, but the more I learn about you the more I wonder. And now you’re telling me that Hydra has had you in and out of cryo since at least Korea in 1953, only eight years after Bucky Barnes was supposedly killed. You also told me that your best friend is looking for you, but he would be at least ninety…unless he was also frozen.”

He realized his human hand was shaking and he shut his eyes in an attempt to block out the memory of the cliffside rushing past him, the icy air slicing past his skin, his own screams trailing behind him. “Don’t,” he said weakly.

She gave him a moment of quiet to flounder, then said very gently, “I’m not asking you to talk about it. I’m telling you how sad it makes me that they stole your life from you and that regardless of who you are, they’re not taking you back while I draw breath and there’s nothing you could say that would convince me you’re not worth dying for. I know what happens to long-term POWs and you’re not responsible for anything you said or did during captivity. You survived and that was all you could do.”

“You don’t know,” he said under his breath. She heard him, though, he knew she did because she went utterly still. “They brainwashed me, stole my memories, _unmade_ me. By the time they were done _conditioning_ me, I wasn’t human anymore. They stripped everything away and left me with nothing but my skills and whatever garbage they made up and put in my head. They put a gun in my hand, pointed me at their enemies, and I took the shot, over and over again. I don’t even know how many people I killed for them or who they were because they wiped my memory so many times. I remember dozens and some of them were Americans. They put the Soviet star on my arm because they thought it was a victory and a joke that they’d turned an American soldier into a machine who would murder Americans and not bat an eye. Some of the people I killed were civilians…witnesses or people in the crossfire. They conditioned me not to care what I had to do to complete the mission. I murdered women and children to get my shot.”

Peyton hung her head and he thought she was disappointed in him or afraid of him, but then she said, “That hospital I bombed? It was at maximum occupancy. They didn’t tell me, but I saw the news reports afterward. One hundred and seventy-six civilians confirmed dead and they blamed a terrorist group rather than admit our planes were in the area.” He looked to her in horror and she met his gaze with agony and guilt in her tear-filled eyes. “I had to box it up and forget it to keep going and I keep it boxed up to this day or I couldn’t live with myself. It’s not easy, though. It made it so hard to do my job and I got charged with insubordination over and over. I didn’t believe in it anymore and I let them know it. When I scrapped a mission mid-flight because they asked me to bomb a village this insurgent was hiding in, they drew up charges that I had caused needless civilian casualties and I was dishonorably discharged. It was them covering their asses because they were afraid that I was angry enough to tell someone what they’d ordered me to do. I wouldn’t have told…I just wanted to go home. But it doesn’t matter now because it’s too late. I’ll never fly again.”

“You were following orders,” he said. “That blood’s on their hands, not yours.”

“You were following orders too,” she said softly. “Tell me you killed one hundred and seventy-six civilians and we can talk about whose hands are bloody.”

He held her gaze for what felt like years. They’d just met thirty-six hours ago, but Peyton was so fully confident and transparent in who she was and what she thought that he felt like he’d known her for years. And she respected him, trusted him, cared for him, all with him giving her very little to go on, including some hard facts that were distinctly unappealing in a friend or lover. She didn’t care. She had always been completely real with him and every time he’d dealt that back, she’d rewarded him with reassurances and with fiercely protective anger towards Hydra. He hadn’t trusted anyone since 1945, but he trusted her. “You’re right,” he said. “I am Bucky Barnes. I fell off a train in the Austrian Alps into a ravine and I survived because they’d already experimented on me once when I was a POW at Azzano. Apparently, they put some shit version of the Captain America serum in me. I lost my left arm on the way down, but there was no other damage that Hydra couldn’t easily mend. The fact that I survived the fall told them that their experiments were working better than they’d thought and they liked the idea of turning Captain America’s best friend into a Soviet killing machine. They put me in cryo between missions to keep me from aging and to prevent me breaking conditioning. They still had to keep wiping my memory because the serum was healing the parts of my brain they were frying. I broke conditioning when I was dispatched to D.C. and was ordered to fight Steve. I nearly killed him, but he made me remember enough to defect and disappear. The more I remembered, the faster I ran.”

Peyton’s jaw tightened as he spoke and, finally, she said, “Whatever you did was not under your control. You weren’t even following orders, you were broken down into a weapon, a machine, like you said, and weapons don’t kill people. The monsters wielding them do. They are _not_ going to take you back and _no one_ is going to hold you accountable for crimes you committed for Hydra. Not while I draw breath and you know my dad would say the same thing and Steve would take on Hell itself for you if he knew where you were. He parachuted alone to a Hydra base and blew it to hell to rescue _you_ and that was before he knew what he was capable of. He’s probably busy hunting down every last Hydra operative as we speak to keep them from hunting you.”

He snorted at that. “That sounds like him. He never could resist starting a fight.”

“You remember him?”

“Bits and pieces. Everything’s disjointed and fuzzy around the edges. From what I do remember, sometimes I wonder if I’d rather leave the rest forgotten.” He squeezed her hand gently and she began drawing patterns up and down his fingers again. “Besides,” he added, looking up at her. “What I’ve got now isn’t all bad.”

One corner of Peyton’s mouth curled just barely upward. “I’m glad you think so. I’m not sure I like the idea of Steve hauling you off to become an Avenger.”

That idea made him cringe and he shook his head stiffly. “I’m done fighting. I was done fighting before I even started and when Steve got me out of Azzano I was really looking forward to going home and never picking up a gun again. I only stayed on because I couldn’t stand to go home knowing that his dumb ass was stomping around Europe with Nazis shooting laser guns at him.”

“You were a sniper then,” she said quietly. “I suppose you put yourself in charge of watching his six and knocking off everyone who tried to sneak up on him?”

He nodded, his brain conjuring a myriad of broken images of watching Steve through his scope and putting headshots in countless Hydra and Nazi soldiers. “Yep. And when we went in, I would still be on his six. He was really good at kicking in doors and not so good at watching his own back. Great tactician, hell of a fighter, but no sense of self-preservation.”

“If you were watching his back because he couldn’t be bothered to, who was watching your back?” Peyton asked, frowning. When he didn’t immediately answer, she raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like Steve’s not the only one with zero sense of self-preservation.”

He rolled his eyes. “Says the pilot who pulled a Kulbit in a plane that wasn’t proven capable of pulling a Kulbit.”

Her smile warmed and she said, “Tell you what, I’m no sniper, but flying isn’t all I’m good for either. I’ll watch your six if you’ll watch mine.”

“Deal.”

Peyton pulled his hand closer and bent her head to kiss his knuckles. “No one’s taking you, Barnes. I swear.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he could believe her and he hated the idea of her bleeding out at his feet when Hydra did come for him. He wanted to believe her, though, and he did believe in her determination. He tugged on her hand, then, and she came close, crawling into his lap when he nudged her to. Their lips met, at first reassuring each other, then becoming more insistent, eager to convince one another that no one was going anywhere without a fight.

“Show me you believe me,” Peyton murmured between kisses. “Show me you’re not going anywhere.”

“Can’t go anywhere,” he said, his mouth freed as she began kissing down his throat and across his chest. “I just promised to watch your six and you’re the biggest risk-taker I know.” Peyton chuckled at that. He cradled her jaw in one hand and lifted her up to kiss her lips again, then whisper to her, “I don’t know if I’ll ever believe Hydra is done chasing me, but I’m not going anywhere, not unless you ask me to.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Then I’ll have plenty of time to thank you.” She pulled back far enough that he could see the confusion in her eyes and he explained softly, “You were right. I had no plan for where to go after Friday night. I was just aimlessly running from Hydra. I don’t know if I ever would have found something worth living for or been able to reconnect my emotions on my own. You did that for me and it’s because of you that I’m not going to end up buried next to Ollie like you were afraid I would.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she shut them, then leaned in to kiss him fast and needy, convincing herself that he was still there and still real and not leaving. He met her pace and added flicks of tongue that had her whimpering and opening up to him so they were drowning in each other. Their hands were moving constantly, stroking and grabbing, pulling each other closer. He scrambled to tug her t-shirt off and get her skin on his and, once he had, it felt like absolute heaven. Her skin was like satin under his hands, her lovely nipples diamonds against his chest, and he wanted more, wanted her to feel how much he wanted her and appreciated her. He pushed her down on the bed and began kissing his way down her, paying special attention to each breast and to her piercing, which was fascinating to run his tongue over. As he mapped her body with his mouth, she moaned softly and whimpered his name, _James_ , over and over, getting him so drunk on her. More. She needed more and he needed to give it to her. He made it down to her hipbones and ran his tongue along one of them just to see. Her body bucked and it was him lying across her legs that kept her where she was, hands twisted in the covers. He chuckled and looked up to watch her face. When she met his gaze, her pupils were blown wide and he made sure she was watching the whole time as he dragged off her panties, leaving her lying underneath him completely naked. Her expression never wavered from unbridled desire and trust, though, so though he’d expected to stop himself, he decided not to. She was shockingly beautiful, all soft curves and tight muscles that he wanted to finish mapping with his mouth sometime when he wasn’t as distracted. Because as soon as he got her naked, he was kissing up her inner thigh and listening to her gasp and whimper, holding her in place with his right hand on her hip as she wrapped her legs around his shoulders. He was operating entirely on instinct and listening to her reactions…if he’d ever done this before he didn’t have a memory of it…but he really didn’t have the brain power right then to care. He just needed to taste her and hear her moan his name, and she did when he put his mouth on her, over and over as he laid kisses and teasing licks all around her, then sucked her clit into his mouth. When he did that, her back arched right off the bed, but her hands in his hair were reflexively pinning him down on her, goading him on. He ran his tongue over and around the bundle of nerves over and over as she squirmed and whimpered. When he looked up to see her face, he found her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth biting down on one fist to hold back louder moans and screams. He was sorely tempted to pull her hand away and make her scream aloud, but he didn’t know whether her dad was in earshot and what the consequences of that would be, so he settled for smirking before bending just a bit lower and driving his tongue inside her. Her back arched again and her heels dug into his shoulders. She was so damn warm and he decided that he loved the taste of her, so sweet and salty and heady, easy to get drunk on. He drew a circle all around inside her and she held him down tighter, desperate for more. He brought his thumb to her clit while he worked her, remembering only when he couldn’t feel how warm he knew she was that that hand was metal, but her entire body rippled with pleasure and he was way too busy keeping her feeling that way to overthink it. All her muscles began to shake around and under him and then she was crashing through her orgasm, her core clenching on his mouth and nearly sending him undone too. He let up only when she went boneless underneath him, her legs and arms falling to the bed at her sides and her breath coming in desperate pants.

He crawled up to hover over her and kiss her blissed-out face and lips. Eventually, she was kissing him back drowsily, then murmuring to him, “Again…no need for knives.”

He laughed into the side of her neck and when he surfaced, he was holding one of said knives. Peyton shook her head, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Do I want to know where that came from? It obviously wasn’t up your sleeve.”

“Right under your head,” he said, letting her watch him replace the knife under the pillow. She rolled her eyes, but smiled and took his hand in hers, twining their fingers together. He loved the way they fit and kissed her knuckles one-by-one. Eyes on their hands, studying her short nails and the scars on her fingers from engine work, he whispered to her, “You’re an angel, you know that?” When he found the nerve to meet Peyton’s eyes, he found her lips parted like he’d knocked the air out of her. “I mean it. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

“That’s high praise coming from someone who’s met Peggy Carter,” Peyton said weakly.

He released her hand and bent low over her, low enough to feel her gorgeous breasts pressing up into him, and kissed her deep and slow. She was less confident in her response than usual, less certain, so he broke the kiss and said, “Peggy Carter is an amazing woman, but she has nothing on you, angel.” He nuzzled her nose, breathing in her scent and her softness. “You saw right through me and have shown me nothing but compassion, even knowing that I was keeping secrets from you and that I might be a powder keg. You don’t flinch, not when you see people who need you, even strangers. Even when no one else would have given a damn, you’re all in and that’s really amazing. Maybe that’s part of what makes you such a good pilot. I think you had wings in a previous life.”

“You are such a cornball,” Peyton said, chuckling softly. 

When he pulled back, though, she was blushing fiercely and wearing a beautiful, shy smile. She was so shockingly, transcendently beautiful in that moment, all softness and sensuality, completely open and unscripted. His chest erupted with warmth and pressure at the sight. “Well, you’re stuck with this cornball and I plan to come up with plenty of lines to make you look like that.”

Peyton giggled. “Oh god, even that was corny.”

He smiled at that, memorizing that laugh and locking it away in his mostly-empty memory bank. “Angel, I don’t care how corny it was. You just _giggled_. I can’t stop now.”


	5. Ground Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to love my OCs for this fic so much when I started it, but I do and they totally hijacked this chapter. Peyton and Rick, I adore you.

He and Peyton did get dressed and make it to the kitchen for coffee and toast not long after the Lt. Colonel, who eyed them both suspiciously. Bucky’s skin rippled with discomfort at the attention. As the Lt. Colonel set down his peanut butter toast, he asked, “You never did say where you were heading, Barnes. Where’s home?”

He felt Peyton’s eyes look sharply to him and then her father, but he kept his attention on the Lt. Colonel. “I’m still trying to figure that out, sir.”

The Lt. Colonel nodded as if, to some degree, he’d expected that answer. “Your pension checks aren’t going to find you if you don’t have an address.”

 _Pension checks? What the hell is he talking about?_ “Then I suppose they won’t find me for a while.”

Peyton’s eyes were on him again, catching the double meaning, but the Lt. Colonel was frowning down at his coffee. There was a horrible moment that felt like a sword hanging over his head, then the Lt. Colonel looked to him with those knife-sharp green eyes and said, “There are a few people in town who would pay cash for jobs if you’re sticking around a little longer. If that’s what you want to do, though, you’re dumping that truck in Indianapolis today. I don’t want whoever’s following you coming here.”

Bucky didn’t question how he knew. The fact was that at some point in the last twenty-four hours, the Lt. Colonel had worked out several rather important things about him and it was imperative that he not piss the man off. “Yes, sir.”

The Lt. Colonel nodded, then reached for a nearby drawer and took a pen and paper out of it. On it, he began scribbling names and addresses. “Do you have enough cash for a clean car?”

“Not a truck.”

“A stolen one would only last you a few days. Peyton? Bring me the cash out of my safe.”

As Peyton headed for Rick’s bedroom, looking shocked, Bucky’s insides twisted and he shot a look at the Lt. Colonel. “Sir, I can’t take your money. If you knew…”

The Lt. Colonel’s eyebrow quirked up. “If I knew you were a contract killer, I wouldn’t want you near my daughter?” A brick dropped into Bucky’s gut and whatever words he’d been about to offer dried right up. “What do they want from you?”

 _To put me back in the fucking chair._ “They want to force me to work for them. I don’t intend to let them.”

Peyton returned with a thick envelope that she handed to the Lt. Colonel, who opened it and appeared to be counting bills. When he was satisfied, he put a stack of hundreds on the counter between him and Bucky and said, “Neither do I. How close are they?”

“I haven’t seen a trace in eight days. I’ve crossed four state lines since then.”

“Good.” The Lt. Colonel tapped one finger on the cash. “This isn’t a gift or a loan. It’s an advance on you setting up a security system on my house and my garage that meets your professional standards. It’s also payment for one of the sniper rifles I know you have in that truck.”

Bucky blinked in barely-contained shock while Peyton’s jaw dropped. “You went through his truck?” she hissed in disbelief.

“No,” the Lt. Colonel said, rolling his eyes at Peyton. “Barnes, are you going to lie to me and tell me you don’t have multiple sniper rifles in the bed of that truck?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Any chance one is a Barrett 50 cal?”

“Dad!” Peyton hissed.

“Yes and it’s yours,” Bucky said, cutting her off. “Thank you, sir.”

“One last thing,” the Lt. Colonel said. “You keep calling me ‘sir.’ Who did you work for? You were US military at some point.”

“I was.”

“Did my government hire you as a contractor?”

Bucky shut his eyes, trying to unsee all of the kills that were beginning to scroll across his retinas. “I was a sniper when I was US Army. They didn’t officially hire me for wetwork. There were people in the organization I did work for, though, who were US government and military officials.”

“You said the people after you plan to _force_ you to kill for them. Are they the ones you worked for?” Bucky could only nod. The Lt. Colonel ground his teeth audibly, then said, “Never call me ‘sir’ again, Barnes. You’re not a soldier here and no one is going to use you anymore. I am Peyton’s dad, Rick, no one else. I want the truck gone and the security system up today. As far as I’m concerned, I know everything I need to.”

His insides were still twisting and he could barely breathe, but he could not put a label on what he was feeling. So, he just said, “Thank you, Rick. It’ll get done.”

\------------------

The drive to Indianapolis took less than two hours, but it took a while to find a truck for sale by owner that was parked within walking distance of a dumping site for his current vehicle. He managed it and was soon behind the wheel of an old, black Ram paid for by Rick, driving past the abandoned truck. He’d left his armory and the hardtop to secure it at the garage, which made both Peyton and Rick stare at him wide-eyed as he unloaded the arsenal of guns, RPGs, bombs, and ammunition. When he handed Rick the 50 cal and the ammunition for it, the man looked like a kid on Christmas. At Peyton’s unimpressed look, he just shrugged, unperturbed, and said, “I’ve been meaning to get one of these.”

Before starting back from Indianapolis, Bucky hunted down a security system that would do what he wanted it to without uploading any data online. It was a tall order, Hydra had been very right about people’s willingness to sacrifice freedom for security, but he did eventually find what he wanted and bought enough components to outfit the house and the garage to his standards. He had the number of doors and windows memorized, so there was no need for guesswork. As he drove, he mapped in his head the security system, as well as where to stash weapons. He’d locked on to a few good spots already just walking through the house yesterday and now he was adding more to the list.

When he got back to town, his first task was to reset his truck arsenal. While he was loading the bed of the truck, Peyton came out of the garage, her arms and hands grease-stained and her face drawn in worry that eased marginally when she saw him. “You’ve been gone awhile,” she said. “It’s almost five.”

“I suppose I’m picky,” he said, lifting an ammunition box into the bed. “The new truck wasn’t easy to find and neither was the security system.”

Peyton’s footsteps approached on the gravel and he turned to find her still looking worried. For a moment, he forgot about the armory and went to her, right hand stroking from her cheek back into her hair. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes dropped to her hands, paying close attention to her nails as she scraped engine grime from under them. “I didn’t like you going alone. Here the odds are pretty low that Hydra is going to do a random sweep looking for you and there aren’t any traffic cameras or anything. As long as you don’t get pulled over or arrested, you should be fine. None of that’s true in Indianapolis or any other major city you go to.”

She was way too attached to him. When Hydra found him, it would destroy her and he couldn’t let that happen. He had already completely hijacked her life and now she was worrying nonstop about him. He was tempted to purposely act like a dick and push her away, but that wasn’t going to earn him any favors and he didn’t want to hurt her, not after everything she’d done for him. The alternative was to convince her that either Hydra wasn’t going to find him or that he could handle it when they did. He shut his eyes, took a breath that did little to calm him, then said, “You’re not going to like this, baby, but all I did for seventy years was get in and out of places unseen to kill people who were impossible to kill. When I drive down the street, I clock every license plate, every sniper perch, every window, every door, every traffic cam. I can guarantee you that no one recognized me in Indianapolis and if they had, they’d be dead right now. I’m not going back to Hydra and I’m not leading them to you.” 

Bucky met Peyton’s eyes and found them measuring him, as if trying to decide whether what he said about his capabilities was true. After a moment, she asked, “Where are the cameras in the bar we met in?”

“There’s only one camera, in the back corner pointed at the cash register. That’s why I had my left elbow on the bar most of the night, to block my face.”

Peyton exhaled softly, almost a sigh of relief, then kissed his jaw and turned back towards the garage. “We’re going to the diner for dinner at six-thirty if you want to shower or whatever.”

Maybe it was the words and the thoughts of the ice-cold shower he’d had to take yesterday, maybe it was watching the way her hips swayed as she walked in those painted-on jeans, but his mind rolled right into the gutter and he smirked as he said, just loud enough for her to hear, “And what if I didn’t want to shower and _whatever_ alone?”

Peyton stopped and turned to grin at him over her shoulder. “Well, Barnes, you always have your right hand to keep you company.”

Bucky took a few steps towards her and dealt her a shit-eating grin that came from a muscle memory with seventy-year-old cobwebs on it. “What about you, kitten? Is your right hand as good as mine?”

Peyton smirked and said, “Well, my right hand isn’t going to get shot by my dad if he catches it in the shower with me, so that is a perk.”

That only made Bucky laugh, though, as he remembered Rick’s story about Peyton cleaning her guns when her dates picked her up. “Well, we might traumatize him and make him hate me more than he does now, but I don’t think he sees it as his job to shoot me.”

Peyton rolled her eyes and started towards the garage. “I’m cleaning up. If I beat you to the shower, you’re getting cold water, kitten.”

He laughed at that and shook his head as he returned to his task.

He did beat her to the shower and was sorely tempted to wait and see if she’d join him after all, but if she’d been as serious as she sounded and showed up before he got started, he really was going to get cold water. Not that that wouldn’t do him some good right now.

Bucky undressed in the bathroom, the door unlocked because he couldn’t deal with locked doors in enclosed spaces, and folded the clothes neatly on the counter. On the edge of the counter closest to the shower, he lined up his knives, five today, and the handgun that had been in his waistband. The handgun was loaded, as always, but the safety was on because he wasn’t an idiot. The bathroom fan was loud and clunky-sounding, which he hated because it destroyed his ability to listen for nearby threats, but he hated the cloying humidity that choked his throat without it far more. It was too much like cryo and too much like waterboarding, another unwanted memory. So, clothes off, fan on, water just this side of cold on.

The plan had been to shower as fast as he could, breaking down all of the filthy thoughts he had been dealing with since that conversation with Peyton before he turned off the water. He was nearly done when there was a very quiet noise that distinctly sounded like a door opening, and then Peyton’s teasing voice. “How’s that right hand, Barnes?”

“Fuck you,” he said, but there was no weight to it, in fact he couldn’t keep a smirk off his face.

“You’d like that.”

He pulled back the shower curtain just enough to peer around and find Peyton leaning against the closed bathroom door, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I would,” he admitted. “But I was told I’d have to take care of that on my own.” Peyton’s green eyes were molten and kept darting up and down the edge of the shower curtain, apparently trying to sneak a look around it. _Fuck, doll…you’re going to kill me with those eyes._ He leaned just a little farther past the curtain so she could see a strip of skin from his head to his toes, but not quite what she seemed to really want. “Offer still stands, beautiful. You’re here anyway.”

Peyton bit her lip, as if debating the suggestion, but her eyes were still dancing over every inch of skin he was letting her see and, finally, she peeled her tank-top up over her head, then unclasped her bra, eyes never leaving him as she stripped. He hadn’t really believed she’d go for it and his mouth went dry as he watched her strip away her clothes until she was standing there in nothing but her skin. He’d seen her naked a few times, now, and he didn’t think he’d ever get over it. She quirked an eyebrow at him and said, her voice a little rough and low, “I suppose…I am here anyway.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled as he pulled back the shower curtain to let her in. As she stepped into the small, humid space, suddenly very much in touching distance, her eyes raked over him. “Fuck, James. I need to get you out of your clothes more often.”

“Says the woman who would have left me alone with my right hand.”

Peyton smirked and took said hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. She sucked his first two fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them as she drew them in deep, sending his eyes rolling back in his head. In his moment of weakness, she pushed him backwards under the running water and against the tile wall. Her mouth found his, fast and needy, and he gave her what she wanted, the same thing he wanted, and opened his mouth to let their tongues dance and tangle. Her hands were all over him and his were all over her, stroking and squeezing. He pulled her close enough to press her body against his, rivulets of water running between them, and the soft skin of her belly on his hard cock was enough to make him ache. “James,” she moaned.

His name uttered like that felt like a bolt of electricity to his core. Bucky spun them around and shoved her back against the shower wall, still kissing her, drowning in her. He loved having her pinned there and she must have liked it too, because her nails were digging into his back. His ran his hand down her thigh to her knee and hauled her leg up to hitch it around his hip. The change in position slotted his cock between her hot, slick folds, warm water running between their bodies where they were almost joined. Peyton gasped and it was all he could do to keep from either shouting a curse word or driving himself into her. Fuck, he wanted her. He wanted to bury himself in her and never leave. Peyton locked her leg at his waist and leveraged herself, rolling her hips around and back again, grinding her core up and down his cock. Bucky dug the fingers of his right hand into her gorgeous ass and fisted the left, planting his left arm against the tile above them where it hopefully wouldn’t break anything. “Fuck, Peyton,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moaned, but didn’t stop moving against him. “Fuck. We should…move this…to the bedroom.”

“Are we going to get caught?”

“He’s not going to open a closed door. Our odds are just as good there as they are here.”

“But…”

“James,” she cut in, kissing him softly. Then she continued, “You saw the way he looked at us this morning. The military is in my blood…I can be half-dead with the flu and will still get up at five. I stay in bed for exactly one reason and he knows that that one reason is sex.”

He couldn’t help groaning and it had little to do with Peyton’s body still sliding against his and a lot to do with shame. “My ma is rolling over in her grave right now…”

“Your ma is happy that you’re finally happy. Now, let’s go before I get impatient.”

Bucky snorted at that. “Kitten, your middle name is ‘impatient.’”

Peyton slid up his cock again, this time high enough that his head was actually cradled at her entrance. Electricity danced along his nerve endings and every ounce of control he had went into remaining perfectly still, not thrusting into her like his body was screaming at him to do. Peyton giggled quietly. “What was that, kitten? We’re going to the bedroom now?” She leaned just a bit closer then, to whisper, her breath hot on his ear, “I’m so ready for you. One quick thrust and you’d be balls-deep in me. Can you feel it?”

She knew he was struggling, she knew how badly he wanted her, and she was pushing him for that reason. He gripped her ass and hip hard enough to bruise, but she didn’t flinch, just smirked at him. He was so sorely tempted to do exactly what she was suggesting and just bury himself in her, but he really didn’t want their first time together to be in a shower. In fact, he wanted to take his time, make her come over and over again, make her scream his name. Regardless of bedroom versus bathroom, that couldn’t happen right now. He groaned again, and forced himself to say, “Angel. I would give my right arm to have you right now, but I don’t want a quickie. I want to spend a whole night seeing how many times I can make you come, I want to hear you scream my name the way you did on Friday night, I want to try every position I can think of to find the one that you lose control over.”

He expected her to argue or at least be disappointed. He’d just rejected her, even if it was temporary. She kissed him long and slow, though, still holding him hostage right on that knife-edge. “James, when was the last time you were with someone?”

“1943. Before I shipped out.”

Her hands flattened on his back, nails no longer digging in, but her arms tightened to hold him close. “You’re right,” she whispered. “No quickie. I want to take my time with you too.” She backed off him, then, his cock sliding between her folds and making him groan as she lowered herself. “Besides…I think I can come just like this. Can you?”

“Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”

She didn’t, sliding up and down his length while he pressed kisses to her mouth and throat over and over, his progress only interrupted by his own curses and moans. It felt so damn good and he couldn’t get enough of her, especially when her moans and curses turned to whimpers and her lips parted in a gasp, her nails digging into his hips now. That face, that desperate face, came from just sliding their naked bodies together, that was how badly she wanted him. It pushed him right to the edge with her and they tumbled over together, gasping and panting and hanging on to each other like they been drowning. The water washed most of the evidence away immediately, but Bucky swiped a gentle hand down Peyton’s belly to be sure, then combed his fingers into her wet hair. She didn’t open her eyes, but she did smile crookedly and kiss him, soft and slow and fucked-out. “Better than your right hand?” she asked between kisses.

“Is that even a question?”

They somehow managed to finish getting clean together and then dry off. Bucky dressed next to her while Peyton brushed the tangles out of her wet hair, standing there in nothing but a towel and smirking every time she caught him looking at her, which was about once every three seconds. Finally, Peyton cracked the door, looking for signs of Rick. Satisfied, she winked at Bucky and hurried towards her bedroom while Bucky moved towards his. They were almost safe when Rick appeared from the kitchen, giving Peyton a withering look. “Come on, Peyton! I have to use that shower too!”

Bucky was pretty sure he was going to die of embarrassment right there, but Peyton just scoffed. “It’s a shower. Whatever you’re afraid of went down the drain.”

Rick grimaced and visibly shuddered. “Fuck, Peyton, come on! Don’t do these things to me!”

Peyton disappeared into her bedroom, though, locking the door behind her and leaving a traumatized Rick and a ready-to-melt-into-the-floorboards Bucky staring at each other. Finally, Rick choked out, “I don’t care what you do or where, just don’t let me find out about it. Let me live in ignorance.”

“Deal,” Bucky said, his voice definitely more tightly-wound and pained than usual. Probably because he felt tightly-wound and pained. Jesus Christ.

Rick nodded, still grimacing, then walked past Bucky and into the bathroom. “Cool. I’m going to bleach every surface of this bathroom now. See you at dinner.”


	6. A Fear of Commitment

Dinner was less awkward than Bucky had anticipated by a wide margin. Peyton and Rick talked about fairly mundane things, though Rick did send a nasty look her way when he told her how thoroughly he’d cleaned the bathroom. Bucky spent most of dinner tracking the large windows, the three exits, and the numerous strangers moving about as patrons and workers, most of whom Rick and Peyton knew. Peyton had sat next to him in the booth again, silently placing herself as a barrier between him and the many people who came to talk to them. Some of those people just looked at him strangely and kept their focus on Peyton and Rick. To the ones who asked, Peyton introduced him as her boyfriend, Barnes, and changed the subject. 

At one point, Bucky got so caught up watching for threats, that he completely forgot that Peyton and Rick were there until Peyton carefully slipped her hand around his right wrist and squeezed. That snapped him awake. When he looked to her to apologize, though, she just kissed his cheek and whispered, “You’re okay. Try to relax.”

He was pretty sure he would never remember how to relax.

When they got home, he ignored Peyton’s insistence that he could do it in the morning and went to work on installing the security system, starting in the house in case they decided to go to bed before he was done. Rick did just that as Bucky was cleaning up in the house and getting his tools and hardware together for the garage. “You’re making me nervous, Barnes,” Peyton said. “This is a really intense thing to be doing at ten at night.”

Bucky just shrugged and said he wouldn’t be able to sleep without it done, which was entirely true. There was a response on Peyton’s tongue, he was sure, but she swallowed it and let him go.

The full truth was that he needed less sleep because of the serum and his conditioning and that the more sleep he got, the more powerful his nightmares were. He’d sooner go without sleep entirely than live through that hell again. That wasn’t an option, but he could get close.

So, when he sat at the Lawfleys’ kitchen counter for a cup of coffee on Monday morning, he was fully prepared for the question and to lie about the answer. It was Rick who asked, “So, what time did you finish? You were working hard last night.”

So, Bucky answered, “I finished installing everything in the garage a little after midnight.”

“Phew. That’s a late night to be up at five-thirty.”

“Don’t need much sleep.”

He realized then how quiet Peyton was being and risked a look at her. She was studying him over her coffee, which was a light caramel color from all the goo she liked to put in it. She raised an eyebrow pointedly at him and tapped the top of her wrist three times. Three o’clock. She’d heard him go to bed after he’d cleaned all his guns and knives in the garage. Bucky barely resisted a sigh of defeat. She didn’t push the issue verbally, but he had a nasty feeling that it was coming.

When the Lawfleys went to the garage to start work, Bucky promised to see Peyton there later and walked in the opposite direction down Main Street.

He started by walking every street in town, learning his surroundings and discovering locations that were either risky or advantageous. He met four dogs on his ramble around and took the time to approach them with friendliness and respect, meet them properly, including checking their nametags, and offer a minute of play time if their owners weren’t around. It was one of the very few things Hydra had trained him to do that he enjoyed, though Roxxi the Rottweiler’s slobber was a less enjoyable aspect of the task. When he got to the downtown area, he walked every alleyway, noting escape routes and hiding places that may be used by him or his enemies. 

Next, he retrieved the two-hundred-dollar laptop he’d bought yesterday at the same place he’d gotten the security system and brought it to the library, where he managed to find a secluded corner to go through the laptop’s setup process, enable what little encryption he knew how to enable, then get started on what he’d bought it for using the library’s wifi. As a starting point, he pulled up the local crime reports for the last year, learning who the red flags were, where the bad neighborhood was, who had committed crimes near the Lawfleys’ (no one). Next was researching the red flag people and the individuals he’d already met. Zugen was a registered sex offender with a laundry list of minor charges on his record. Justin was a financial advisor with a squeaky-clean record if you ignored the divorce three years back. To himself, Bucky rather bitterly thought that a guy who treated women the way Justin did probably deserved to be divorced. Next came the downtown businessfolk, who he found by visiting their business websites and scrolling through until he found their names and photos. Then, the people on the list Rick had given him, several of whom did have building permits out. When he’d exhausted that, the next step was clear.

Peyton.

She’d been an honor roll student throughout high school according to the old newspaper articles that came up, went to the Air Force Academy on scholarship, and graduated with high honors at the top of her class. She’d participated in several competitive sports in high school, which made perfect sense to Bucky, including track and field, soccer, and softball. She didn’t have any social media accounts, at least none that could be viewed by the public, and Bucky was grateful for that. Unfortunately, that offered its own conclusion, namely, that Peyton didn’t have much of a social life.

It made sense. Peyton would have had a batch of friends in high school, a new batch of friends at the Academy, another new batch in the Air Force with her squadron. But, she’d had to keep leaving those friends behind and then, after risking her life over and over for her squadron and doing everything she could for friends like Ollie, she’d been betrayed by her CO’s and dishonorably discharged. The official story would have been the only story her squadron and other comrades were told and that story would have soured all of those relationships. Now, she was back at home with her dad with no good explanation for why she wasn’t Air Force anymore and a lot of memories of friends she’d lost along the way. No wonder she had gravitated to him on Friday night. He had been someone completely new to talk to with no questions about her past.

Bucky cleared his browsing history and shut the laptop. He rubbed at his eyes, which were sore from looking at a screen for hours, then ran his right hand back through his hair. There was a clock on the wall across the library from him and he looked up at it to find that it was nearly four o’clock. He’d told Peyton he would meet her at the garage and, assuming there had been no crises, she was nearly done. He packed the laptop into the case he’d gotten for it and started walking again.

As he walked into the garage, he could hear even over the stereo Peyton’s strained voice saying, “Zach, you’re sweet, but it was a one-time thing. There must be someone else out there.”

Bucky barely managed to hold in a growl, speeding up his pace as he scanned the garage. Rick was not present, which was probably part of the problem, and a very sweaty, very grease-stained Peyton holding a socket wrench like a potential weapon was facing a tall, skinny guy who looking anything but ‘sweet.’ In fact, the naked girl half-falling off a motorcycle that was tattooed on his bicep left little doubt that he was the opposite of ‘sweet,’ and the jackass had Peyton nearly backed up to the Toyota she was still tinkering with. “Tell me that wasn’t the best sex of your life and I’ll go, baby,” Zach drawled, eyes raking over the damp tank-top that barely covered her ample chest.

“It wasn’t the best sex of my life,” Peyton said with finality. “Please go? I’m at work, Zach.”

Bucky reached them then, causing Zach to startle as he snuck up and got the socket wrench in his hand, laying a kiss on Peyton’s hair. “Hey beautiful. Almost done?”

“Almost,” Peyton said, her voice still fraught with tension. She released the socket wrench, but with obvious regret. “Got distracted.”

He pressed another kiss to her hair, eyes never leaving Zach, who was staring boldly right back at him. This guy was a bigger problem than Justin, it looked like. “Do what you need to do, baby. I’ll wait.”

Peyton hesitated, but after a moment’s pause, she kissed the side of his neck, then moved around the Toyota to where her creeper and tray of tools was. Bucky carefully moved to stand between her and Zach. Now that Peyton wasn’t watching them, Zach openly glared at Bucky. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky grinned in a way that he knew to be more a threat than a kindness and Zach’s mouth twitched. “Barnes. I’m the boyfriend. And who are you?”

Zach’s eyes narrowed. “Zach. I’m…with…”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not with her,” Bucky said. “You wouldn’t need to harass her at work if you were together. You don’t even have her number, do you?” Zach’s scowl turned dangerous and Bucky raised an eyebrow at it, unimpressed. “That’s what I thought. Why is it that when women get burned by one-night-stands, they back down and when men get burned, they show up at the woman’s place of work and harass her? Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“You’re a real piece of shit, aren’t you?” Zach growled. “Where do you get off talking that way to me?”

“Just being real with you, Zach. I’m hoping you’ll be smart and walk away now.”

“Fuck you, man,” Zach snarled. “Peyton, what are you doing with this little shit, anyway? Let me show you a good time, baby…”

Zach took one step towards Peyton and Bucky stuck out one leg. It took hardly any effort, but the trip sent Zach to the concrete groaning in pain. Peyton wheeled out from under the Toyota to watch with one eyebrow raised, but otherwise didn’t react, which was enough to count as permission. Bucky moved forward and stood over Zach with one combat boot strategically placed over his knee. Zach stared at the boot. “You know,” Bucky said slowly, “People bust their kneecaps with bad falls all the time. It’s awful…takes forever to heal and sometimes requires a whole series of surgeries just so the patient can walk again. It would be a really long time before you could land another one-night-stand if that were to happen to you.”

“Fuck off, man…” Zach growled.

“Do you think I wouldn’t do it? Or couldn’t?” Bucky allowed a bit of the Soldier to bleed into his voice and eyes, which locked with Zach’s gaze. “You can find out the hard way, or you can walk out those doors and not come back. Your choice.”

Zach’s eyes went to Peyton again, who was watching the proceedings still reclined on her creeper with an eyebrow raised. She either really didn’t care about all of this, or she was deliberately making it clear that she was okay with threats made on her behalf. When Zach took too long to respond, Peyton looked to Bucky with mild concern and asked, “How much blood is this going to involve? It can be a real bitch to scrub out of concrete.”

“You’re a crazy bitch anyway,” Zach hissed. 

At the words, Bucky lashed out and stomped on Zach’s sneaker just right. He cried out in pain and Bucky eyed the foot and ankle from a distance before placing his boot against Zach’s knee again. “Shit, man,” he said mildly. “Sorry to hear you twisted your ankle in that fall. It’s going to be a long stumble home for you. Maybe you should start walking.”

Zach glared up at him, grimacing in pain. Finally, he nodded tersely and Bucky grabbed his forearm to help him up, not that Zach wanted anything to do with him. With the other man on his feet, albeit wincing and at an odd angle, Bucky shot him the grin again and clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Zach. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Zach took one final look at Peyton, then shook his head in disbelief and hobbled out. Bucky leaned against the garage door frame and watched him go until he was a block away and turning down Cedar Street. Then he let his shoulders drop just a bit and moved to sit on the floor next to Peyton, who was staring up at him with a tiny hint of a smile. “Do you know that you have a murder face?” she asked.

“I have a ‘murder face?’ What is a ‘murder face?’”

“The way you looked at him while you were walking over,” she said. “I thought you wanted my wrench so you could bury it in his skull.”

“And you gave it to me. What does that say about you?”

Peyton reached up and laced her fingers into his hand. Hers were greasy, but he didn’t give a damn, especially when he looked down at her and saw her molten green eyes. “It says I trust you, Barnes, even when you look like you’re going to spill blood all over my dad’s garage. And for the record, that grin you have is almost as scary as your murder face. That’s a regular Sweeney Todd grin.”

“Sweeney Todd?”

“Yep. Homicidal Victorian-era barber. There’s a movie version with Johnny Depp that’s fantastic. I think you enjoy threatening people.”

Bucky shrugged, trying to decide if he was bothered by her assessment. She didn’t seem to be. “Protecting you is important to me and I’ve gotten good at being threatening.” Thoughts of threatening people on missions began to seep in, including memories of torturing people. He could hear their screams and smell the coppery stench of blood.

Peyton’s hand tightened in his and he realized that his eyes had gone unfocused while he was lost in his thoughts. “Hey,” she said softly. He met her eyes and found that her brow had creased in concern. She stroked the side of his hand with her thumb until he squeezed back. “There you are. We talked about this. What you did is the responsibility of whoever gave the orders. If you’d had a choice, you would have done it differently. This is nothing like that.”

His jaw tightened so hard he wondered if he’d shatter his teeth. He looked down at their hands so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “I tortured people. I remember…some of them.”

Peyton’s lips brushed the top of his hand in a soft kiss. “That wasn’t you, it was Hydra using you. You don’t have to do that ever again, okay? They’re not taking you back and I know you wouldn’t choose that.”

A bitter laugh escaped him and he jerked his head to gesture in the direction Zach had disappeared in. “If that bastard had laid a hand on you, I might have chosen that.”

“And I would have helped you clean up the blood while my dad buried the body,” Peyton answered. He looked to her in surprise and found her trademark smirk there. “You worry too much, Barnes. You’re a good man.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that, but thank you.”

He shooed her back under the car then and soon after, Rick returned from test-driving the BMW he was working on. Bucky watched him drive by the doors and turn to park it in the back lot, a sure sign that he’d successfully fixed the problem. When Peyton gave up on the Toyota for the day, the three of them closed up the garage and retreated to the house, where Rick and Bucky watched a frozen pizza bake in the oven while Peyton showered.

“Any problems while I was gone?” Rick asked randomly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What gave it away?”

“Peyton doesn’t leave tools laying around unless she’s been threatening someone with them and her socket wrench was on top of the Toyota. What happened?”

“An idiot named Zach showed up to harass her. I got there and stepped in before she split his skull.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “I wish she wouldn’t do one-night-stands. This isn’t the first time one of them showed up here. She’s lost so many people, though, she’s terrified of commitment. I assume you didn’t split his skull either? I didn’t notice any bloodstains.”

Bucky memorized Rick’s words about Peyton being terrified of commitment and the myriad of feelings they awoke in him, mostly sadness for her. “I did trip him and give him a sprained ankle. It was pretty satisfying watching him shuffle down the street.”

Rick snorted. “Nice. You know, by the day I become more and more sure that you’re going to marry her.”

Bucky could only roll his eyes at that, even if the notion tied him up in knots. “You just said she’s afraid of commitment.”

Rick gave him a knowing look and a smirk that faintly resembled Peyton’s. “She hasn’t tried it with you. My bet’s still on you, Black Ops.”

They spent that evening eating pizza and drinking beer in the living room, watching a cop show on the tv. Rick was in what was apparently his favorite recliner and Bucky sat on the couch with Peyton. When the pizza was gone, Peyton half-reclined against the arm of the couch and curled up her legs to put her feet in his lap. When he looked down at her, her eyes were focused on the tv, as if this were no big deal, just something that happened every night. Bucky pretended to turn his attention back to the tv, though he’d barely been watching anyway, and laid his hands on her feet, very gently massaging one, then the other with his right hand. When he chanced another glance at Peyton, she was smiling and her eyes were at half-mast. He smirked and put a tiny bit more pressure into her feet. Apparently, his knowledge of anatomy was useful for something other than torturing people.

Peyton drifted off to sleep shortly after that, muscles falling limp draped over his legs, face going slack and peaceful. He watched her for a while, marveling at how beautiful she was like that. After the nine o’clock news, Rick got out of his recliner with a groan, stretched, then turned as if to head to bed. He stopped when he saw Peyton, though, smiled fondly and looked to Bucky with a raised eyebrow that clearly said, _what did I tell you?_ With no further comment, Rick disappeared to the bathroom and then to his bedroom, the door closing tightly.

Some action movie with completely unrealistic fight scenes started playing and Bucky watched it closely enough to roll his eyes on a regular basis. Near the end of the movie, Peyton sighed softly, stretched, and rolled over to face the back of the couch, placing herself so that she was curled around him with her hips in his lap. He raised an eyebrow at her and half-wondered if she was actually asleep, but she stilled then, apparently content where she was. He reached for and just barely was able to grab the blanket draped over the corner of the couch. He dragged it to cover both of them and Peyton sighed again. He decided he loved that sound. It warmed him right into his bones. He laid his arms over her thigh and ribs, hands on her hip.

He stayed awake through another movie, this one even less realistic. He was tempted to carry Peyton to bed and go clean his guns again, but she warm so warm and still on top of him that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. When the second movie ended and he checked the clock to see that it was past two, he finally turned off the tv. Peyton still didn’t stir and he still wanted to stay there and let her sleep on top of him, but if she realized how late he was staying up again, she’d probably chew him out for it. He adjusted the blanket so it would stay on her, then carefully scooped her into his arms and stood up. Her head fell into the crook of his neck perfectly and he carried her through the dark house on silent feet. Her bedroom door was ajar and he walked backwards through it, pushing the door open with his back.

The room was very dark with blackout curtains obscuring the windows, but Bucky had no trouble seeing. The bed was made to army regulations, the floor was clear of any laundry or other items he might have expected, and there was generally little in the room except for a small desk, an equally small dresser, a shut closet, and a half-full laundry bin. On the walls hung posters, medals, and floating shelves full of books, trophies, and framed photos. From a hook near the door hung an aviator’s jacket, obviously old and well-loved and covered in patches, only a few of which he recognized. 

Bucky shifted Peyton on his arms to free a hand and flick back her covers, then laid her on the bed. He left the blanket around her because it was soft and pre-warmed and laid the bed covers over the top. Peyton grumbled softly and shifted and he let her, standing back and hoping she wouldn’t wake. Her hand stretched out from under the covers, searching, and she frowned, but then settled into sleep again. He refused to believe she was looking for him. 

As he stared down at her, Bucky felt an aching in his chest that he realized was want and not the kind of want that meant lust. He wanted to crawl into bed next to her and fall asleep holding her. He wanted to do that every night for the rest of his life, if he was being honest with himself.

Whatever she said, though, he was a trainwreck and she wasn’t. She could and should do better than him.

Bucky left the bedroom, eyes on Peyton right up until the door shut behind him. He laid in his own bed, staring at the ceiling and bleeding inside, until almost four when he fell asleep. Just as he’d expected, the first sounds of life in the house woke him at five and he got up immediately. He had a notion that icing his overtired eyes make ease the swollen dark circles beneath them and he wanted to give it a shot before Peyton caught him.


	7. Setting Routines and Breaking Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had no idea this was going to happen until Peyton hijacked the chapter. Once the idea came, though, it felt too right to give up and Peyton doesn't really back down once she gets something in her head. Besides, I can't write a slow burn to save my life. So, thank you, Peyton, for making the lovely smut happen. <3

With the exception of the last eight weeks, Bucky hadn’t been given the option of living without a routine since he left Brooklyn in 1943. Routine was drilled into him and his anxious mind and twitching fingers insisted that he keep to a routine of some form. So, he created a routine for himself again.

He woke with the first sounds of life in the Lawfley house around five o’clock, dressed in fresh clothes, armed himself, and made it to the kitchen for a cup of coffee with Peyton and Rick. Then, he’d walk every street in the small town, always a different route, always checking for the smallest changes in the status quo, always greeting each dog he came upon fondly. Morning, he realized, was a good time to meet the dogs because they would be out for the first time while their owners made their own coffee. Then, he would go for a ten-mile run on one of the three country roads that led out of town, again watching for any changes since his last run indicative of trouble. He only ever saw two or three cars on his runs and always made a point to pull up the hood of his sweatshirt and slow to a normal human speed until the offending car was out of sight. Next, he’d return to the garage to abuse the punching bag Rick kept in the corner. Apparently, it was regularly used years ago, but lately only served for purposes of Rick pointing at it and telling an angry Peyton to ‘take it out on that thing, not my customers.’ When Bucky had asked about it, Rick told him to ‘be my guest’ on the condition that he not scare anyone too badly. Every once in a while, he’d take a brief break and back away just enough to catch Peyton in his peripheral vision watching him. By then, it would be time for lunch, usually cold sandwiches or pizza. Bucky was quickly learning that the Lawfleys had very limited cooking skills, not that he minded. It was just eight weeks ago that he ate something that wasn’t an MRE for the first time since 1945. He spent the afternoons usually doing manual labor for one of the people on Rick’s list, who were initially wary of him until he told them he was a veteran friend of Peyton’s and her dad had sent him there because he needed work. That seemed to instantly melt them and open any door. When there wasn’t work to do, he’d find a spot in the garage near Peyton and divide his attention between watching her work and watching her six. Justin and Zach were by far the most blatant of her suitors, at least while he was there to witness it, but his presence was enough to deter a few more over the next week, men who approached Peyton with flirty grins and at the sight of Bucky sitting nearby, about swallowed their tongues. For dinner, the Lawfleys occasionally ventured beyond pizza to something like spaghetti, which required boiling pasta and warming a jar of sauce in a pot, or mac ‘n cheese and corndogs, which required again boiling pasta with the bonus of powdered cheese and operating the oven at a different temperature than they used for pizza.

Every night ended with Peyton falling asleep on him on the couch, sometimes leaned against his shoulder with his arm around her, sometimes with her legs draped across him.

Tuesday morning, Bucky had just managed to covertly return the icepack he’d been using on his eyes to the freezer when Peyton’s bedroom door opened. She emerged dressed for work in her holey jeans, sneakers, and a little black tank-top tight enough to press her breasts in and up in the best way. Her hair was still loose in a golden sheet over her shoulders and her eyes were molten as she approached, the blanket off the back of the couch folded on her arms. “You carried me to bed,” she said softly, smiling up at him.

Bucky shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Thought you’d be more comfortable there than on the couch.”

Peyton’s smile turned a little crooked and she kissed him on the mouth, slow and teasing until his lips parted longingly. She pulled back just out of reach, lips still brushing his, and in that teasing voice, said, “It wasn’t about the couch, kitten. I like sleeping on _you_.”

She grinned at him as she walked away, laying the blanket over the back of the couch while Bucky gulped and tried to talk down his libido.

He loved that she not only trusted him enough to fall asleep on him, she took _comfort_ in being pressed against him while she slept. Some evenings, she even clasped his hand in hers or wrapped her arms around him in her sleep. Rick always retired to bed after the evening news, but he’d pause between the recliner and the couch, staring down at Peyton’s sleeping face affectionately. Then, his eyes would move to Bucky and he would smirk and clap him on the shoulder as he walked by. When he could get away with it, Bucky would remain there on the couch, half-watching tv, and hold Peyton while she slept. He was addicted to her warmth and softness and _trust._ Then, he’d carry her to her bed and tuck her in, retreating to his own room with a heavy heart.

When he couldn’t get away with it, it was because Peyton woke up. Then, they’d spend hours making out on the couch. Sometimes, it would be her straddling him and grinding her hips against his as she pressed him into the cushions and kissed him until their lips bruised. Sometimes, Peyton would do nothing but tease him with almost kisses and barely-there touches until it was him lying over her, drunk on her and kissing her breathless as her legs constricted around him. When Peyton decided that she couldn’t stand it anymore, or that she couldn’t stand how hard he was working to control his own desperation, she would drag him to her bedroom, shut the door behind them and start removing their clothes as they kissed. There was little point to fighting her on it because she very quickly learned which of his buttons to push to bring him to his knees, sometimes literally as he did on one night when his eagerness translated into dropping to his knees, bringing her down on the bed before him, and working her with his mouth until she came, legs quivering around his head, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other barely keeping her from screaming when she bit down on the knuckles. They’d keep going until Peyton became so sexed-out and boneless that she drifted off to sleep in the afterglow. Bucky would lay by her side and hold her until he eventually became too tired to ignore. Then, he’d ruefully slink to his own room.

That had been the routine for a week and a half before the pattern was broken, unsurprisingly, by Peyton. Bucky had just slid out of her bed and gotten his jeans back on when Peyton’s hand latched around his wrist. He looked down to her in surprise, having thought her asleep, and found her eyes shut but her brow creased and her lips in a deep frown. “Don’t you dare,” she grumbled.

Bucky sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn’t release his wrist, so he reached across himself to stroke her ribs from her shoulder to her waist, the comforter between them. “I should go to my room, baby.”

“We’ve talked about this. My dad doesn’t care. Unless you don’t want to stay?”

“You know I do.”

Peyton’s eyes slid open and she met his gaze. He couldn’t read her expression, especially in the dark. He thought he saw anger in her jaw and vulnerability in her eyes, though. “If you want to sleep with me, why won’t you? If you tell me it’s some noble bullshit about not wanting me to get too attached to you, Barnes, I swear to god…”

“It’s not,” he cut in. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed. “That’s some of it, fine, but that’s not the only reason.”

“Enlighten me.”

He bit his lip, thinking. His entire life had been lies and he respected and adored Peyton. He couldn’t bear to lie to her. So, he decided, he wouldn’t. “I’m trying to respect your space. Maybe you don’t want me to, I guess I should have asked that before sneaking out every night. It’s also about my…sleeping habits.”

“You mean lack-thereof?” Peyton asked drily. She sat up enough to reach out and gently brush one thumb over the bruising beneath his eye and he sighed in defeat. Much softer, she said, “I’ve been watching you trying to hide that and failing fantastically. It’s the nightmares, right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “The less I sleep, the fewer nightmares I have. They’re not as bad that way too.”

“There are other cures for nightmares, baby,” Peyton said, crawling close enough to curl herself up against his ribs. He wrapped an arm around her and she burrowed tighter into him. “Worrying less, for one. I know what you’re doing every morning. You’re training for when they come for you. You’re totally offline now, though, and they’re not going to search a town like this on a whim. You’re safe here.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Peyton sighed and turned her head to kiss his ribs, her lips warm on his skin. “What about chamomile tea or melatonin? You need to sleep.”

“I don’t know if any of that would even work on me. With the serum…my metabolism is insane.”

“I’ve noticed. We put in an extra pizza just for you, you know.” She kissed the next rib up, then the next. “Hmm. When we do this, you’re always very focused on me. You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? Making me come again and again until I fall asleep?”

Shit. That was bound to get him in trouble. He brought her hand, still in his, to his mouth and kissed each knuckle one-by-one. “I love watching you come, but yes, I also want you to sleep well.”

“Mm-hmm. So, what if I did that to you?” 

Before he could come up with an argument against that, Peyton shifted her weight suddenly, surprising him enough to allow her to shove him flat on the bed, her naked body draped across his chest. Her mouth and hands roamed over his chest urgently, immediately sending ripples of electricity through his brain and the blood from his extremities to his core. “Shit,” he groaned. “I…uh…thought you’d be more upset with me than this.”

Peyton snorted and lightly bit his pec, wrenching a moan from his lips. “I’m very upset, kitten. I’m upset that you don’t know how to take care of yourself. You know how you can make it up to me?”

“How?”

Her right hand slight down his body to unzip his jeans. “You can let _me_ take care of you.”

“Jesus, Peyton.” Her hand wrapping around his cock sent his voice up an octave on the last syllable of her name and he gasped as she began to squeeze and stroke him. 

“So, tell me more about this serum,” Peyton said, her voice slow and teasing, breath hot on his skin as she moved her mouth down his chest. “Exactly how many times can you come in one night? You know most guys are thrilled if they can get off twice.”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Well, there was the one about an hour ago. I know I can get a second…maybe a third.” She dragged just the tip of her tongue from his balls to his tip and his body went rigid. She smirked and paused to listen to his arm recalibrating. “I know a part of you hates that arm, but it’s so fucking hot.”

“Oh my god,” he moaned.

“You know, you haven’t actually seen all of my tricks yet. I could show you one more…if you promise to come to me at night instead of cleaning your guns for the hundredth time.”

“Fuck, Peyton. Fine. Yes, I promise.”

“Good.” Then, she took him in her mouth, one hand firmly planted on his hip to pin him to the bed. It was entirely necessary. As soon as she did it, his body bucked instinctively, aching for warmth and pressure. She gave it to him, sucking and licking and massaging him with her tongue. When he was fighting for air, she pulled off to kiss down him and suck one of his balls into her mouth, sending an electric jolt rippling down his spine.

“ _Fuck…_ ” he groaned. “Baby…”

“Don’t you dare plead with me,” Peyton said quietly but firmly as she ghosted her lips back up his cock. “I never want to hear that word from your mouth.”

An impossible, aching warmth built in his chest and a quiet part of his brain that wasn’t consumed by what she was doing to him observed that he might really be in love with this woman. She took him in again, sucking and backing off over and over until he couldn’t see straight. Then, she took him into her throat and _swallowed_. He saw white and choked on a scream as he came, shaking with the intensity of it and with struggling to keep his hands fisted at his sides where they wouldn’t do any damage.

When Peyton finally released him and crawled up his body, it was to straddle him and slowly drag his cock through her wetness. He groaned and she smirked. “I’ve decided I like that serum. You’re almost hard again only a minute later.”

“Until you, I couldn’t remember getting hard since 1943,” he admitted. “But I look up at you and I can’t fucking help it, doll. I want you all the time.”

Peyton slowly lowered herself over him and kissed him, long and sweet. Lips brushing his as she spoke, she whispered. “I dream about you.”

His eyes went wide in amazement. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Quite a bit, actually. I dream about the things you’ve done to me and the things I want you to do to me. I dream about what it would feel like to have you inside me. What it would be like to feel you coming inside of me and your come warm and wet on my thighs. What it would feel like to have you pleasuring me with the flat of one of your knives on my skin, cold and smooth, never drawing blood, just teasing, because I know you can and I trust you. I have a bit of a competency kink, so that one comes up probably more often than is normal.”

“Fuck, angel.” He was fully hard just listening to her and imagining the things she described and dealing with the fact that she’d _dreamt them_ and she wanted them.

“The point is,” her whispers gentled a bit, “That I think if you let me, I could give you some good dreams.”

He had never once considered that there might be a way to replace his nightmares. He had just assumed they would be a permanent curse on him and he did doubt that what Peyton was suggesting would work. But it would certainly be worth a try and he wouldn’t argue with her methods for an instant. “What’s your plan, angel?”

So softly, so sweet like the angel she was, she answered, “I’m going to make love to you and it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever felt, much more memorable than anything in those damn nightmares.”

He’d wanted nothing more than that since she’d gotten him on his knees staring up at her beautiful naked body, a garrote around his neck. He hadn’t dared make the first move because he was terrified of making her feel vulnerable or letting her get even more attached to him. But now, with her whispering beautiful things to him and offering to try and replace his nightmares with dreams of loving her, all of his worries shrank and faded away. He was reflexively tempted to beg her to follow through on her words, but he caught himself. Instead, he said, “There isn’t a doubt in my mind that that would be the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Peyton smiled and kissed him with tiny brushes of her lips, then her tongue flicking out to tease his bottom lip. He opened for her and desperately reached for her, their tongues just brushing as she drew all the air from his lungs. Their hands tightened on each other and then she rocked her hips forward, pressing him against her entrance and holding him there, just like she had when they’d fooled around in the shower. A needy whimper escaped him despite his attempts to remain quiet and she laid a reassuring kiss on his mouth, then sank down on him. His eyes rolled back and his short fingernails dug deep into her flesh, driven half-mad by that mind-blowing pressure enveloping him, that heat and slickness that welcomed him like he was coming home. In a way, he supposed he was. Peyton had become his home. He felt more safe and at ease in her presence than he could remember feeling anywhere else or with anyone else, with the possible exception of Steve, though those memories were so weak. When he was fully inside her, Peyton threw her head back and moaned, every bit as overwhelmed as he was. They both gasped for air, and then, when they’d taken the time to collect themselves, Peyton met his gaze. He could hardly see the green of her irises her pupils were blown so wide and her lips were swollen from blowing him and kissing him. She looked like a goddess. She smiled crookedly and gently moved his hands to her hips, then began to roll them in a wanton circle, keeping him buried in her and pressing him harder against every inch of her in turn. The sensation was mind-blowing and he was groaning and cursing and gasping, his hands leaving bruises on her hips. She paid no heed to those bruises, just grinned and kept working him, starting to add strokes up and down that sent his eyes rolling back again. Her hands ran up and down his chest, brushing teasing fingertips over his nipples, digging into his muscles in appreciation, gently stroking the edges of his scars in a way that reminded him of her fearlessness and compassion and ferocity. She wasn’t afraid of him. Everything about him that would have terrified anyone else only drew her in closer. Even when she’d barely known him, this woman had been entirely willing to lay down her life to protect him and every minute since, she’d been all-in. He would never be able to repay that, except by rewarding her with loving her, being worth her devotion, and staying alive for her sake. He couldn’t listen to her scream his name as they killed him or spoke the last of his trigger words to reduce him to a machine again. He couldn’t put her through that, so he would do everything in his power to prevent it. Peyton must have seen a change in his eyes or his expression as his thoughts shifted. She didn’t stop moving, but she leaned over him, eyes on his, and brushed his lower lip with the pad of her thumb. He kissed it, then whispered to her, “I love you, angel.”

She stilled and he watched as tears gathered in her eyes. Then, she whispered back, “I love you, James.”

Then, she was kissing him again and moving with renewed fervor, eagerly chasing their pleasure, reveling in this otherworldly and yet perfectly human connection. He felt the same desperation building in him and he couldn’t get enough of her, kissing her harder and faster, hips meeting hers with every thrust, fingers digging into her flesh. She was right that he’d never felt anything this good in all his life and that these sensations would live his memory even more vividly than the memories of pain and cold. In fact, he was rapidly forgetting the pain, the faces, the harsh words, the cruel laughter. He was forgetting the rush of snow past him as he fell. He was forgetting the hollow ache in his chest that was the grief over his lost life. It all slipped away, everything but this moment, these feelings, Peyton’s beautiful eyes and body and name, and his own name. She kept whispering it to him over and over, constantly reminding him of who he was and that she loved him as he was. _James, James, James, James…._

“Peyton…” he about choked on her name, the desperation pooling at the base of his spine and clenching every muscle in his body, right up through his throat. “Fuck, angel, you feel so good. I’m so close.”

“I’m right behind you, but I need to feel you come. Come for me, baby.”

The words tipped him right over the edge and she captured his mouth just in time to muffle their moans and screams. She was right behind him and feeling her clench around him as she came undone made him see stars. They lay there tangled up together and gasping for air for what could have been minutes or hours. She didn’t move, keeping him cradled warm inside her, and he was absolutely certain that this moment was the closest to heaven he’d ever be. Bucky bent to press a kiss to Peyton’s hair and she moaned softly in appreciation. He smiled at the sound and kissed her again, on her forehead this time. She tilted her head up and met him with a kiss on the lips, sweet and drowsy. When the kiss broke, he watched her smile slowly widen and then she just barely rocked her hips, wrenching a groan from him. “That’s interesting,” she said, her voice low and raspy and unbearably sexy. “Already ready for round four?”

“I don’t know how that’s ready when the rest of me feels drunk and boneless. I don’t think there’s much I can do about that right now.”

Peyton snickered and place a quick kiss on his lips. “I want one more from you before I let you sleep.”

“Jesus, Peyton,” he groaned, partly in exhaustion and partly in arousal. His cock twitched inside of her, betraying him, and she grinned.

“I don’t think I have it in me to be on top again…but I do have another idea.”

He raised an eyebrow and, at the sneaky look in her eye, smiled again. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

“It takes hardly any work, I promise.” Peyton slowly eased off of him, making him hiss and her whimper. He never wanted to leave her perfect warmth. On shaking limbs, she laid down on her side with her back to him and reached behind her to roll him. He got the message and spooned her, wrapping his arms around her taut stomach and soft breasts. Peyton smiled and lifted one leg to rest on top of his and his eyes rolled back she his cock slotted up against her again. She was still wet and dripping with his release, so it took hardly any effort at all to slide inside her again as she moaned, her left hand finding his in the dark and gripping it tight. When he was buried in her, she lowered her leg again, tightening her grip on him so he saw stars. He decided that he loved this position, loved how close and how tight he could hold her, loved the soft smell of her hair right there and her breasts cradled in his hands and her fingers twined in his like he was her lifeline. Their feet got tangled together and he loved that too, loved feeling like they were sharing the same space. Peyton didn’t move, just sighed and held his hand tight. Worried she might be sore and hesitant, he laid a kiss on her hair and whispered, “You good, angel?”

“Mmhmm. So good. Just enjoying this.”

“Me too.”

She kissed his left hand and the pressure ran up to his human nerves, where it felt like a live wire. “I feel so safe with you,” she whispered. “I know you think I should be afraid, but I’m not. This right here makes more sense than anything I’ve ever done in my life.”

He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in, then very gently squeezed her hand. “Being with you like this…it feels like I’ve finally come home.”

She began to shake, like she was trying not to cry, and he peppered kisses over her hair, her face, her shoulder, everywhere he could reach. They made love like that, slowly, just rocking together, lost in each other. When he couldn’t bear it anymore, he slipped his free hand down her body and between her legs. She gasped and whimpered and he obliged, teasing tiny circles around her clit as her back arched and her hand on his tightened and she whimpered curses. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding back against him, then jolting into his hand, then back again. He pulled her leg up over his again, opening her wider, letting him push in deeper, and he pinned her hips hard against his with their clasped hands, holding himself as deep in her as he could reach as he tormented her. She was so close he could feel her muscles fluttering, begging for just that tiny bit more, and he was right there, fighting for air, muscles taut with need. She was so close, but he didn’t have a free hand to give her more. In her ear, he whispered, low and rough, “Let go of the sheets, baby. Put your hand on one of those gorgeous breasts. Let me watch you.”

A shiver rippled over her skin and she obeyed immediately, pinching her nipple between her fingers and rubbing, twisting. Watching that had him a second from going off and when she gasped and her back arched and her mouth opened into an ‘O’, that did it. He came with her and it took everything he had to keep his hands on her coaxing her through it as she whimpered and gasped. She kept coming long after he was done and he didn’t back down, pulling her through it and laying soothing kisses on her hair as she shook like a leaf. She was so damn beautiful like this. He wanted to spend every night getting her to make that face and utterly lose control over how he made her feel. When she finally came down, she sagged against him and he chuckled fondly and bundled her into his arms, carefully pulling out of her and rolling her so he could cradle her against his chest. “Oh my god,” she moaned softly. “I haven’t come that hard in all my life.”

Pride and warmth bloomed inside his chest and he kissed her forehead, rubbing soothing circles in her back. “Well, I’ll have to see what I can do to make you come harder next time.”

“Oh god,” she moaned. “You’ll give me a heart attack.”

“I think you can take it.”

“Yes, I can.” Peyton smirked and lifted her head just enough to kiss him, then went limp again. “You gonna dream about me tonight, handsome?”

“If I dream, it’ll be about you. You’ve worn me right out.”

He felt her smirk against his skin and it made him smile. “Mission accomplished.”

Since there was absolutely nothing that would convince him to leave her bed now, he reached down and dragged the covers up over them, then whispered to her, “I love you, Peyton.”

She sighed happily and kissed his chest, then whispered back, “I love you, James.”

He’d barely registered that she’d fallen asleep before he dropped off too. When he woke, it was to Peyton’s mouth on his and a vague memory of standing on an airstrip, helping a grinning Peyton out of her flightsuit and finding her naked underneath, but no nightmares.


	8. Got Your Six

Just like the first time Bucky woke up with Peyton on top of him, he knew exactly where he was and who she was. As the dream he’d been having of peeling her out of a flightsuit faded, memories of the night prior came to center stage, filling him with an impossibly deep affection. When he opened his eyes, he found Peyton watching him in the darkness, still sprawled across him with her chin propped on her fist. She wore a soft half-smile and her green eyes looked molten in the gloom. “Did I win?” she asked quietly.

Bucky snorted, but couldn’t hold back a grin as he gathered her in close and kissed her senseless. When they came up for air, he answered, “You always win.”

Peyton hummed contentedly and he could hear the triumphant smirk in her voice when she asked, “You dreamt about me?”

“Yes.” He kissed her long and deep, asking, “What exactly do you wear under a flightsuit?”

Peyton chuckled and answered in a teasing voice, “If you’re waiting for me on the tarmac? Nothing.”

“I thought you might say that.”

Out of respect for what Peyton called Rick’s ‘delicate sensibilities,’ they dragged themselves out of bed soon after, delayed only by a brief morning make-out session. Bucky snuck back to his room, successfully avoiding Rick, and dressed.

When Bucky exited the bathroom a few minutes later and headed for the kitchen, he found Rick already there pouring his first cup of coffee. Inside his chest, Bucky felt a strange vortex of anxiety and joy, the two pulling at him and threatening to steal his breath.

Bucky poured his own coffee and sat on the stool next to Rick, as usual. Rick eyed Bucky suspiciously, but he just donned the blank expression he’d been so used to wearing before he met Peyton and Rick shrugged off his questions. Until Peyton entered the room, that is.

Peyton was wearing an oddly blank expression too as she walked right past both of them and went for the coffeepot. She filled her cup and added creamer, her green tank-top sliding an inch up her midriff as she moved, and turned to lean against the far counter and blow on her coffee. Her tank-top stayed right where it usually landed, exposing over an inch of skin, some of which bore a nasty bruise from Bucky’s left hand. At first, he was grateful that Rick wasn’t paying attention to him to hear his arm recalibrating in distress at seeing how much real and lasting pain he’d caused Peyton. Then, Rick set down his coffee mug. “What the hell did you do to your hip?”

Peyton went perfectly still, then took a sip of coffee to bide time. Finally, she said, “You know me, Dad. I spend too much time around metal things and they keep giving me bruises. I’m a big girl, it doesn’t even hurt.”

Rick sighed in exasperation and was about to let it go when Peyton turned to add a bit more creamer to her mostly-creamer coffee. Apparently, what they’d been seeing was Bucky’s thumbprint and now his first finger was visible too crawling up from her waistband. His jaw began to ache from grinding his teeth so hard. “What the…?” Rick exclaimed. “What do I have in my garage that’s shaped like that? It almost looks like…what the hell is it, a doorframe? The angle’s weird, though.”

“It’s fine, Dad. Don’t worry about it,” Peyton repeated.

But then it clicked and Rick buried his face in one hand. “Jesus Christ. That’s a handprint. A _metal_ handprint. Ugh. I’m taking my coffee…somewhere else. Barnes, I know it was an accident because if it was on purpose, you’d be missing that hand. In future, please try not to leave marks anywhere on my daughter that I might see them.”

“Deal,” Bucky forced himself to say as Rick made a beeline for the door. In a moment, he was gone and Peyton was doubled over with laughter. Bucky just rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention to his coffee.

When Peyton finally regained control of herself, she smiled at him and asked, “Plans for today?”

“The usual.”

Her eyes sharpened and he remembered her quiet admonishment last night about worrying himself. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to run with you. We’ve been busy with the shop and I got out of the habit.”

“Of course.”

After finishing their coffee, changing into clothes suitable for running, and informing Rick that Peyton would be back in an hour or so, they left the house to run the next route in the rotation Bucky was using. Peyton smiled as they left town, saying, “I love this route. More hills than the other main roads.”

Bucky had expected to need to seriously temper his pace what with Peyton being only human. As they ran, though, he remembered that she’d won awards in high school in cross country and track and that she’d kept up her conditioning through her military days. She held her own for speed and seemed to be built for endurance. Bucky let her decide when to turn back for town and was surprised when she chose the same landmark he always did, a small bridge over a creek winding between the cornfields. On the way back, she was certainly more winded than he was and they’d been going a little slower than his usual pace for the whole route, but he was impressed by her abilities and by the grin she wore as she pushed herself on and on. Just like in every other area of her life, Peyton enjoyed a challenge.

When they got back to the house, they went inside and Peyton filled two tall glasses with water for them, quickly draining hers and then sighing contentedly as she leaned to the side and began to stretch her warm muscles. She was wearing nothing but shorts and a sportsbra and though he’d been more or less able to focus on the run with her in his peripheral vision, looking at her head-on with sweat beading on her lovely skin and her belly-button piercing glinting in the light was maddening.

What sobered him was looking at that bruise on her hip, or the half of it that wasn’t covered by her shorts, anyway.

Peyton caught him looking and sighed, shaking her head. “Stop it, Barnes.”

He couldn’t just stop the thoughts, though. They spun on and on, a train catapulting down a mountain track. _The Fist of Hydra. A cleaver to a butcher. Zola’s toy soldier. That hand isn’t gentle…it wasn’t built to be._ “I’m sorry.”

Now she glared at him. “I’m not. I could have told you it was too much. I didn’t because it wasn’t. I’m fine.”

Bucky grimaced and removed his glove, then very gently laid his hand on her ribs above the bruise. “Angel, I can tell just by looking at this that it hurts. I shouldn’t have grabbed you that hard and I’m sorry.”

“ _I’m not_ ,” she repeated firmly, setting her jaw. “Don’t tell me what I can’t handle, Barnes.” She sighed, softening, and laid a hand over his to line his fingers up with the bruise. When they hit just right and he winced, feeling the pressure and knowing it must hurt, Peyton just barely smirked. “Every time I look at this or feel it, I remember how you held me and the look on your face when you couldn’t help squeezing tighter. I am the opposite of sorry, kitten.”

Bucky sighed in defeat and shook his head. “I keep worrying about the day something I do or say finally scares you off.”

Peyton’s smirk turned into a wide grin and her eyes sparkled. “I wouldn’t worry, kitten. Nothing scares me.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He sighed again and gathered Peyton into his arms, trailing his fingertips along her sweat-beaded skin. Warmth and rightness and _home_ flooded him and he whispered in her ear, “Before you, I assumed I’d never have anything like this. I thought there was just too much about me that would convince anyone to run the other way. I thought even Steve would run. But everything about me that should be scary pulls you in closer.”

Peyton wound her fingers into his metal ones and squeezed his hand as if to confirm that. Then, she kissed the side of his neck and said, “If you’re calling me a danger junkie, then you’re probably right. But I love you, James, exactly as you are. Those dangerous things are part of the package, but you’re still you and I love you, metal arm and all.”

He kissed her then, quickly falling into that warm, safe, intoxicating feeling and drowning in her. When the room around them didn’t even exist anymore, Peyton murmured against his lips, “My dad never leaves the garage before lunchtime. Want to take a shower?”

He didn’t actually answer verbally, just scooped a giggling Peyton into his arms and started walking. As soon as he’d shouldered the bathroom door shut, Peyton slithered from his grasp and started showing off her multi-tasking skills, kissing him, removing both their clothes, and teasing him mercilessly with her fingertips all at once. World-class assassin or not, all he managed amidst all of that was toeing off his shoes, turning on the fan, and on a rare occasion finding enough brain cells to help with a clothing article or a weapon he had strapped to him. He didn’t offer to help with the first one. Instead, he just soaked up Peyton’s words in his ear as he watched her reach for the knife, remove it, and lay it on the bathroom counter.

Every time they lost clothes together, Peyton took a special delight in finding his weapons. The first time it had happened, she’d whispered against his lips, “I’ve got your six.” Then, she’d very slowly removed the knife, sheath, and strap while he watched and laid out his weapons within easy reach of him in a neat row. Every time since then, she’d done it the exact same thing.

Even now, after two weeks of this, even after saying aloud that they loved each other, she still whispered to him that she had his six before she removed the first knife she found and she still laid them out in a neat row on the edge of the bathroom counter right where he would put them when he showered alone. It meant more than words could describe that she knew he didn’t take those words for granted, that she knew he needed to be told every time and that she did it without being prodded. She had never even reached for one of his weapons before having said those words and that meant everything. He didn’t know how he’d react without those words. At the least, he’d be too anxious to focus on her. At the worst, he’d lash out. But instead of that, she reassured him every time with those words that meant the world.

They finally made it into the shower, stumbling and sliding on the slick tile while Peyton laughed between their kisses. Bucky thought he’d never get out of seeing Peyton like this, miles of soft skin over taut muscle and plush curves, water streaming over her in rivulets while her eyes went molten in that come-hither look that nearly finished him by itself. He hesitated for a moment, struck dumb by that stunning image. Then, he had her off her feet with her lovely ass in his hands and her legs wrapped around his hips, kissing her hard enough to bruise. She gave as good as she got, always did, and tugged hard on his hair with one hand while the other scraped down his side to his ass and hip, pinning him so tight against her. She was so hot and wet and not just from the water and, just like she’d teased when they’d last shared a shower, it only took one thrust to bury himself in her, leaving them both gasping and groaning.

It made him feel just the way it had last night. It felt like being welcomed home, like he was finally safe and himself and wanted and whole. And it was real and true, he knew that now. Peyton wanted him as he was and she had his six and would do anything to keep him safe, including killing and dying for him. And when it was just the two of them, he did feel like himself. He didn’t have all his memories, didn’t even have many, but it didn’t really matter because even without them, he felt _whole_. Peyton had convinced him that even like this, without knowing his sisters’ first names or how he’d met Steve, he was a _person_ who mattered and felt and that was okay. Feelings weren’t weakness and he was worth something. She’d given him all of that and each time they were like this, he felt that truth in every cell.

She must have felt something similar, because when they were both close enough that her legs were so tight around him as to leave bruises and her head had fallen back against the tile while her face contorted with desperation, she opened her eyes to catch his gaze and said aloud, “I love you, James.”

Those words, which he hadn’t been able to comprehend the meaning of not so long ago, were nearly enough to finish him and he leaned his forehead on hers as he groaned. “Fuck, beautiful. I love you too. I love you so fucking much.”

“Oh god,” she whimpered, eyes slamming shut as her face twisted in that way he was now addicted to. “James…oh my god…please, James…”

A few more sharp thrusts were all it took for both of them. Then, they were both crying out, gasping and moaning and, in Peyton’s case, screaming. He wanted to make her scream his name over and over and couldn’t help drawing it out by continuing to slowly thrust and tease her breasts when she finally began to come down, sending her right back to coming again and screaming. When she’d come three times and was trembling in his arms, he relented and kissed her gently as he lowered her to her feet on the shower floor. After he’d pulled out, he kept both hands on her to steady her, laughing quietly with her at the way her leg muscles shook and threatened to fail her. “I think you broke me,” Peyton said, her voice completely wrecked and a silly smile on her face.

“You’re smiling, so that must be a good thing.”

“A very good thing.” Peyton hauled him in for a sloppy kiss that had him hard again, then giggled as she carefully climbed down him to kneel before him and press him against the other shower wall. Then, with nothing but a saucy look to warn him, she took him into her throat and fucked him into her mouth, as unrelenting as he’d been with her despite the water that sometimes trickled down her face. He kept both hands on her head and even watching her in sexed-out awe, he made sure to block or wipe away the water whenever it washed over her forehead. The third time he did it, she seemed to realize that it wasn’t a fluke and drew soothing patterns on his hip with her thumb, meeting his gaze and holding it as she kissed down his shaft. She didn’t have to say a word and didn’t. The message was clear. _I know you have my six and I trust you. Thank you for keeping me safe and comfortable. I love you for it._

He came hard despite the quick refractory period and she drank down every drop, grinning up at him when she finally pulled off. He helped her to her feet and kissed her, as turned on as he always was by the taste of him lingering in her mouth like he’d marked her. _Mine_. He’d never call her that out loud, might never believe it even if she told him it was true, but he wanted it. He wanted her for himself so bad it ached in his chest. So, they stood there together under the water and he kissed her half a hundred times, soaking up that fantasy that she was _his_.

It had been two hours, not the promised one, by the time they dressed and made it to the garage, but Rick didn’t seem surprised. When they walked in, he didn’t even deign to look up from scraping at a set of battery terminals that needed cleaning. At first, Bucky didn’t think he’d heard them come in over the rock music blaring overhead, but then he said, “I’m almost done with this one and then we’ve got nothing but that damn snowblower of yours, Peyton. Why don’t you take the day off? I’m cutting out at noon.”

Bucky had come to learn that the Lawfleys only took days off when business got slow, working day after day right through the weekends. Peyton’s lips pursed thoughtfully and she said, “I haven’t seen Gramps in weeks. He’s probably pissed.”

Rick snorted. “You should go see him, then. You’re probably falling on the Sheepshead board too.”

Peyton nodded, then looked to Bucky. “Want to come with? He’s cool, I promise.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Rick long enough to see that he’d looked to Peyton with wide eyes. This was significant. So, despite the side of his brain screaming with anxiety, Bucky nodded. “Sure.”

Gramps living in a senior living facility on the edge of town. As Peyton drove them there in her Challenger, she spoke fondly of him and explained that he was quite old, near-sighted and used a wheelchair to get around, but he was still as sharp as a tack. When they entered the facility, Peyton led the way through the main doors rather than to one of the interconnected condos. They walked into the common room and eyes immediately snapped to watch them. Bucky’s skin crawled and his hands twitched, wanting to go to his weapons, but Peyton just smiled and hurried forward. “Miss Blizzard!” one woman called to her. “Where the devil have you been? We missed you for Sheepshead last week.”

While Bucky puzzled over the name ‘Miss Blizzard’ and clocked the windows (twelve floor-to-ceiling), doors (three), and occupants (eighteen, all elderly), Peyton laughed and said to the woman, “Sorry, Dolores. Something came up. I’m here today, though. I’ve been missing you folks! The old man will be giving me an earful as it is.”

“Yes, he will!” An elderly man wearing an Air Force baseball cap spun towards them in a wheelchair, green eyes bright and sharp. His eyes raked over Bucky, then darted to Peyton. “Where have you been, Missy? I’ve been lookin’ all over for you.”

Peyton laughed and bent to give the man a warm hug, which he returned. “Sorry, Gramps. I’ve just been swamped.” She stood and reached for him, so Bucky moved to her side and, to give himself a little piece of mind, put his right hand on her hip. She just barely smiled, but otherwise didn’t react. “What’ve you been up to, old man?”

“I may be old, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” the ‘old man’ said, smirking at Peyton. “All I’ve been doing is crushing your Sheepshead record. The real question is: is this a boyfriend?”

Peyton blushed and he seriously considered making a break for one of the exits he’d clocked on the way in, but then she said, “Yeah, this is James, my boyfriend,” and something in the center of his chest went soft and molten.

“Hmm.” The old man turned a surveying look towards Bucky and smiled wider. “I approve.”

Bucky’s eyebrows snapped up in shock and Peyton sputtered, “What does that mean? You don’t sign off on who I date, Gramps…”

“Apparently, I do!” Gramps replied, still grinning at Bucky in a knowing way. “This is the only guy you’ve ever dated that you introduced to me and you let him put a hand on your hip like he owns you. When’s the chicken dinner?”

“Gramps, we just started going out, do you see a ring on my finger? Cool your jets, old man.”

Gramps wasn’t listening to her anymore, though. To Bucky, he said in a teasing voice, “Pilots are strange creatures, not afraid of a damn thing until you steal the controls. Don’t let her intimidate you. She’s already yours.”

“Peyton doesn’t belong to anybody, sir,” he said, smiling at Gramps’s words and the ball of warmth in his chest they were causing to expand. “I just watch her six.”

Peyton instantly softened and looked to him with a fond smile and molten eyes. There was a beat like that before Gramps whistled, bringing the room to silence. Bucky and Peyton looked to him in alarm and found him smirking wickedly. “Hey folks! Miss Blizzard is getting married!”

“Hey!” Peyton tried to cut in, but there were already cheers and rounds of applause and blissfully happy people crowding in around Peyton to offer congratulations and ask questions. 

Bucky shifted a few steps automatically to literally guard her six, his hand moving to the small of her back. When he looked to Gramps again, the man was laughing at Peyton’s struggles to deal with the little old ladies already asking inane questions that apparently had something to do with wedding planning. To him, Bucky whispered in a panic, “We did just start dating and I’m not exactly husband material.”

“Oh, I know,” the man said, eyes sparkling as Bucky snorted at the shot. Gramps softened, though, and added, “But I know trauma when I see it and in a large room full of strangers, noise, and big windows, you’re watching _her_ six, not yours. Tell me that’s not husband material and I’ll eat my hat.”

Bucky stared at him in amazement for a moment, then took a stunned glance towards Peyton and his hand on her back, then back to her grandfather. He was right. Bucky had left his six exposed for the last five minutes for the first time he could remember since 1943, but he had Peyton’s fully secured. Gramps tilted his head and asked softly, “Who has your dogtags, son?”

Pain lanced through his chest and he had to look away as he answered, “No one, unless Hydra keeps trophies.”

The brutally honest answer didn’t shock Gramps, didn’t really even surprise him. The lack of reaction was enough that Bucky looked to the old man again and found him nodding. “You should have them recast, Sergeant. On some base level, our tags tell us and everyone else who we are. Maybe having them again would help you find your peace.”

Peyton’s lower back was warm and reassuring under his hand, but otherwise everything around them evaporated as his stomach bottomed out. It was just him and the old man. “I didn’t say I was a Sergeant. In fact, I didn’t even say I served until you asked about my tags.”

Gramps chuckled and answered, very softly so only he would hear, “If Lieutenant Leon ‘Blizzard’ Lawfley heard that his son didn’t recognize Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes when he was standing three feet from him, he’d strike me dead on the spot. I’ve seen more pictures of you than my own mother, God rest her soul. I don’t know what twist of fate has brought you here, Sergeant, but my father would be very pleased. Guilt and worry kept him up late so often. He hated that he was given a medal for providing information that led a good man to disappear in the snow, not even a set of dogtags left to mail home to his ma. He felt that after all of the good that man did to keep the world free from Hydra, he deserved to come home. This isn’t Brooklyn and it sure isn’t 1945, but all the same, Blizzard would be so very honored to see his family helping to bring you home.” It was Peyton, warm under his hand, and her alone that kept him from falling to his knees in a heap of grief at those words. But that was Gramps’s point. He was becoming more whole because of her. He was becoming more himself because of her. And despite everything he’d lost and everything he’d done, she loved him and trusted him. He didn’t know what to say to Gramps, but it seemed no words were expected. Instead, Gramps brought one hand to the brim of his hat and saluted Bucky, saying quietly, “Thank you for your service, Sergeant Barnes, and welcome home.”

While Bucky tried and failed to process that conversation, Peyton finally came up with a solution to her own struggles by loudly proclaiming that anyone who beat her in a hand of Sheepshead could ask a wedding question. She’d apparently given up on trying to correct everyone and was now just winging it. Bucky didn’t know what to do with that either, he just knew it was terrifying to be looked at as Peyton’s fiancé by people who held her in high regard. This whole visit had his nerves firing like mad and his muscles felt like they were going to vibrate out of his skin.

Peyton dragged him along with the group to a large oval table where a deck of cards that looked oddly thin waited. People began shoving each other mildly to claim spots in the first game with the understanding that Peyton would be playing indefinitely so that people could grill her about wedding things. Wedding things that didn’t exist. He was ready to whisper his concerns in her ear, but she just smirked in a wicked sort of way and assured him that ‘she had this.’

Bucky had never played Sheepshead before and sat behind and to Peyton’s right, placing his metal arm behind her back. He was still horribly anxious and covering her made him feel just a hair better about all of this. The deck looked thin because it was. Nearly half the cards had been removed for this particular game. It was an odd sort of strategy game. Each player took turns deciding based on their hand whether they wanted to take the extra cards in the middle, called the blind, and use the advantage to play against the rest of the table. Bucky was able to see Peyton’s hand and, though no one explained the game aloud, he picked it up quickly by watching her play.

He also picked up that, true to form, Peyton was a maverick when it came to card playing. Also, true to form, it almost always worked in her favor. Her strategy wasn’t predictable to anyone else because she worked on instinct or by taking the most extreme risk-reward option. So, when it came down to it, it was Peyton who often had a trump card hidden until the end of the hand, or had picked on only two low trump cards but managed to add a queen and a jack from the blind. She had a fantastic poker face too, and could purposely make people think she had certain cards. She must’ve had to put in plenty of time developing it to pull this off.

Two hours later, Peyton hadn’t had to answer a single wedding question.

When they left, Bucky received farewells that were almost as fond as the ones Peyton got, including several handshakes and partial hugs that made his skin crawl. There was also a silent salute from Gramps, who was smirking at him the exact same way Rick did when Rick claimed that Bucky was going to marry Peyton.

As they exited the facility and walked towards Peyton’s car, the sunlight glinting off her loose blond hair like spun gold, eyes flashing green in the light as she laughed over her victory, Bucky thought of Gramps’s insistence that he’d make a good husband. He also thought of how damn good it had felt to have people thinking he and Peyton were engaged, once he tamped down the anxiety. He hadn’t actually had much of a chance to acknowledge that, but in retrospect, he couldn’t ignore it. He’d been secretly thrilled when she called him her boyfriend to her grandfather, but that paled in comparison to how it felt to sit with his arm around her and watch her be teased because they made such a ‘cute couple.’ He loved her. He loved her more than anything. He didn’t even need his memories back at this point, he just needed to keep her. He wanted to fall asleep every night exhausted from making love to her and wake up every morning with the ends of her hair tickling his chest. He wanted to protect her from everything, always, from idiots harassing her and from Hydra, and he didn’t care what he had to do take keep her safe and happy. He’d do it.

He did want to marry her. Every time Rick and then Gramps had joked about it, he had blanched because it had seemed so ludicrous and impossible that he hadn’t bothered to wonder. But now…now he was wondering.

As they got in the Challenger, Bucky’s insides began to twist. Peyton had once told him that she was attached to her identity and didn’t want to be a mom for that reason. Was she also too attached to her identity to entertain marrying someone? As Peyton pulled out of the lot, Bucky said nonchalantly, “You know, I’ve never been called someone’s fiancé before. I think I’d remember that.”

Peyton snorted and, without looking at him, took his hand in hers. “Get used to it. That’s what you’ll be every time we visit them.”

She intended to bring him to visit again? When she’d never brought a man there before? What did that mean? “At some point, you’re going to have to come up with wedding details for them.”

Peyton cringed. “This may surprise you, but I hate weddings. Those women wanted to know ‘what my colors are,’ ‘what kind of flowers we’re going with,’ and ‘who my bridesmaids are.’ I don’t give two shits about those things. I don’t even have female friends who could be bridesmaids.”

He forced himself to snort, though he could barely breathe. “I’m not at all surprised. I have never once mistaken you for a girly-girl.”

“Exactly. That’s not to say I’d never marry anybody, though,” Peyton said very slowly. Bucky looked to her, but her eyes were on the road and he realized that he was looking at her Sheepshead poker face. “I would not do one of those fluffy thirty-thousand-dollar weddings that everyone does now, though.”

“What would you do? Courthouse?”

She shook her head and smirked again. “I’d elope. Just us, somewhere beautiful and far off the grid. You know what would be really amazing? A private island. I could fly us there myself and no one else would be able to reach us.”

 _Just us._ He desperately wanted to know if ‘us’ meant she and her as-yet-unknown-future-husband or she and Bucky. He had a feeling he was meant to agonize over that, though, and certainly wasn’t going to ask. Instead, he focused on the image she painted and found it pretty damn perfect. He loved the idea of laying on a beach next to Peyton with miles of ocean between them and anyone else, genuinely safe and alone. And, aside from practical reasons, he also liked the thought of making love to Peyton on a beach with the sun on his shoulders or millions of stars backlighting her as she smirked down at him. No one could possibly walk in on them or hear the sounds they made. It would just be them. “I like the sound of that.”

“You like the sound of anything off-grid,” Peyton said dryly.

“True. I bet you wouldn’t change your name, though, would you?”

Peyton’s face scrunched up in distaste. “No. I’m very proud of my family and who they made me. I don’t think I could let go of that.”

“Names are important,” he agreed mildly, though his mind was already starting to skitter away from him, knocked loose by the tense afternoon and thoughts of changing names.

Peyton’s head snapped to the side to look at him. “Barnes. This isn’t the first time we’ve talked about something like this…about identity. You said they took your memories…you said they took everything. Did you mean your name too?”

His jaw turned to stone and his eyes shut to hold in everything that question dragged up. He felt Peyton pull the car over, then they were parked and she was pressed against him, holding him, and resting his forehead on her shoulder. One of them was shaking, though he wasn’t sure who. Peyton wound the fingers of one hand tight into his hair. Through gritted teeth, she said, “I want to kill them. Part of me wants them to come so I can kill them for what they did to you.”

“Baby, don’t wish that,” he said, breathing raggedly. Maybe it was him who was shaking. “They have ways of taking me back that I wouldn’t be able to fight off. I don’t want you to be with me if that happens.”

“What are you talking about?”

She deserved to know. Knowing that she would insist on standing by his side when they came meant knowing that she needed to be told the full truth. “They have trigger words for me. A series of words they’ve implanted in my head that when spoken in the right order work like a reset button.”

“Reset to what?”

“To the Winter Soldier,” he breathed, fingers digging into her back, trying to ground himself in this reality, to ground himself in _her_. “The machine they made me. No memories, no thoughts, no will. They can tell me to do anything and I’ll do it with no hesitation and no remorse. I wouldn’t know who you are, angel. I wouldn’t know who I am.”

Peyton tightened her hold on him rather than push him away, just as she always had, and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Is there a way to get them out? Do you know the words?”

“I know them, but I don’t know if it’s possible and it’s too risky to try.”

“How many people know?”

“Not many. A lot of them are dead or in federal custody since SHIELD fell. Being able to…control me…was a lot of power for them to entrust to people and they demanded a high degree of loyalty for that. But there are still a few out there. Baron von Strucker helped install the words. He was somewhere in Eastern Europe last I heard.” Peyton went very still and very quiet and Bucky immediately understood why. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t know where he is and even if I did, I would not bring you. It’s too dangerous.”

Peyton scoffed and loosened her grip enough to glare at him. “Don’t you dare tell me what’s too dangerous. You have no idea what my skills are or what I’ve done and I am not losing you.”

“And I am not losing you,” he said. Peyton’s eyes immediately softened and he stroked the side of her lovely face from her temple to her jaw, then cradled her cheek. “Peyton, please listen to me. These people are _evil_. They don’t care what they have to do or who they have to hurt to accomplish their goal and their goal is total control. If they knew who you are or what you mean to me, they would use you as leverage to control me. Or, they might decide that you’re more useful as another mindless soldier and wipe you like they did to me. Imagine the kind of damage they could do if they put you in a cockpit with nothing in your head but your skills and their commands.” Tears rose in Peyton’s eyes and her jaw hardened. Bucky very gently stroked her face again. “I am going to do absolutely everything I can to keep both of us safe, angel, but we can’t go looking for trouble. Okay?”

“Okay.” She leaned in and kissed him then, hard and reassuring. It quickly turned to something passionate and needy as they both sought to assure one another that no one was going anywhere and that they would protect one another. Echoing that thought, between kisses, Peyton whispered, “No looking for trouble, but I’ve got your six, James. Always.”

“And I’ve got yours, Peyton.” They kissed a little longer until the words that meant the absolute world to him brought up thoughts of his conversation with Gramps. “Funny story,” he murmured between kisses. “I don’t know if you caught it, but your Gramps knows who I am.”

Peyton pulled back from the kiss to stare at him, wide-eyed. “Shit. I thought his lousy eyesight would have prevented that. What did he say?”

Bucky chuckled wryly. “He thanked me for my service. Before that, I had said that we really hadn’t been dating long and I was definitely not husband material. He saw right through me, said he knew what trauma looked like and saw me watching your six, not mine. He said if that wasn’t good husband material, he’d eat his hat.”

Peyton’s eyes went molten and a soft, thoughtful smile lit her face like a candle. “He’s right. And you know something, Barnes?”

“What?”

She leaned in and, directly in his ear, whispered, “Ever since I was a little girl, I have thought of getting married with dread and revulsion. I never wanted it. It’s part of why I’ve never had a long-term relationship. You want to know what’s funny, though? Once I got over the shock of what happened today, it felt really good to pretend to be engaged to you. Really, really good.”

A blush burned his face and neck and he turned his head to capture her in a kiss before his face betrayed him. Because Peyton Lawfley, the most independent person he’d ever known, and he’d known _Steve Rogers_ , had just told him she wouldn’t mind being engaged to him.

It was one thing to stamp down dangerously strong emotions when they were worthless. But how much he loved her and wanted her wasn’t worthless. She _returned_ it. Against all odds, she _wanted him_. He couldn’t remember anything in his life half this good and he wasn’t willing to lose it when she was telling him she didn’t want to lose it either.

He’d only known her a few weeks. That had been enough for some couples in the forties, he thought, but he knew it wasn’t enough now, certainly not with a girl like Peyton.

But she’d just told him she liked being his pretend-fiancée. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? What was he supposed to do when she was everything he could possibly need and she wanted him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally do end notes, but I wanted to tell you guys that the idea of Peyton telling Bucky that she has his six immediately before removing his knives came entirely out of nowhere, but it totally guts me and makes me love them so much more. The original thought was for removing weapons to be a humorous/sexy act, but Peyton surprised me and derailed that. Maybe that will still be a thing someday, but Peyton seems to think Bucky still has some trust issues to work through, mostly trusting himself.
> 
> I think there are only four-ish more chapters left of this (I actually have the last two-ish written already), but there will absolutely be a sequel. That decision will make a lot of sense when we get there. I also may post a work when this one is complete of random scenes from this same time period that could have been in this fic and didn't make it in. There are just so many fun ideas in my head that I kind of want to see played out. We'll see.


	9. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: I got ambitious and published two chapters today, so if you have not read chapter eight, "Got Your Six," please do so before reading this.

When Bucky managed, after several torturous days, to contrive a private conversation with Rick, the man was surprisingly helpful in making the opportunity happen, explaining when they finally managed to leave Peyton alone in the garage cussing out that snowblower that he’d been watching Bucky twitch since they visited Gramps and knew something was up. When Bucky explained what had happened with Gramps, Rick smirked in a self-satisfied way and said, “Did I not say that you’re going to marry her? I called it, Black Ops. I absolutely called it and I’m wishing I put money on it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I can’t just propose to her. I’ve only known her three weeks. She’d say ‘no’ and then shoot me.”

Rick laughed and went to the fridge, producing two beers. Bucky popped the cap off his with his gloved metal thumb and Rick raised an eyebrow, then offered his to pop too. “Any other guy? Definitely. I think the longest relationship Peyton has ever had lasted about three weeks, honestly. Gramps and I are the only people she’s ever cared about that she didn’t lose, so she’s used to cutting her losses. Poor thing spent more time knowing her mother was dying than not before we lost her and then she lost a few comrades overseas. That doesn’t even account for the friends she lost along the way. And she’s always been defiant when it comes to her being her. I’ve never met anyone who knew themselves that well and so ferociously defended their own identity. The one time I teased her about grandkids she about bit my head off. But she has a soft spot for you. I’ve seen it since the beginning, since that first morning that she told me about you. No offense, but Peyton’s not one to take in strays or take care of people at all, at least not unless she feels personally responsible for them. Obviously, somewhere in between buying you shots, she decided she was responsible for you.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, hands that Peyton saw as equally worthy of caring for. “She had my six from day one.”

“Exactly. And that kind of loyalty from someone like her? That’s priceless and permanent. Again, no offense, I know you’ve got issues that ten years of therapy won’t fix, but she doesn’t care. I know you don’t think you’re worth the boots on your feet, but she thinks you’re worth dying for. Logically, I don’t know if that’s true, but I trust Peyton to know what’s best for her. So, if she told you flat-out that she didn’t mind the thought of being engaged to you, she meant it and she thinks that potential permanent relationship is worth the potential pain of losing you. And that, Black Ops, is something she has never even considered risking with anyone else. Hell, I offered her a part ownership in my shop and she refused because she was afraid of being permanently tied to _me_. She didn’t say that, but I could see it on her face. She’ll marry you; I’ve known it since I choked on my coffee that first morning. But you have to be smart about it.”

Bucky shook his head, hearing the words, but only believing half of them, including those final words. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I have zero memories of serious relationships to draw on. Hell, before meeting her the wires were so badly crossed in my head I couldn’t really feel any emotions. I don’t know the first thing about this.”

Rick sighed and set his beer aside. “Tell me what you think asking a woman for a permanent relationship looks like.”

Bucky grimaced. “I don’t know. I think the old me would have done something that involved roses, the shiniest ring he could afford, and really fancy words.”

Rick cringed. “Okay, that’s the problem. Put your current self and Peyton in that situation and tell me what’s wrong with it.”

The grimace worsened and Bucky took a long pull of his beer, dropping his eyes again as he answered, “Everything. I can’t do any of those things and she wouldn’t want them anyway.”

“Exactly. And you don’t have to do any of that. Getting engaged is an act of proving you trust someone implicitly and that you trust yourself enough to give yourself to them permanently. I know your life is kind of complicated, but there must be something that’s important to you, something valuable that you can offer her as a sign of trust. Don’t give her a ring. Give her a piece of that thing that’s important, something tangible _like_ a ring, but not. Something to show her you trust her.”

The first answer to that question that came to mind was that Peyton was all he valued and that he couldn’t exactly give her anything that was symbolic of that. But, after a moment, he realized that that wasn’t true. There was something else he prized and guarded desperately, something he’d had stolen from him and violated by people who weren’t trustworthy, something he’d only just gotten back and was terrified of losing again, something he knew Peyton would understand the value of.

His identity.

And he knew exactly how to show he trusted her with it, and, more importantly, he not only was willing to do it but he _wanted to._

Bucky met Rick’s gaze, suddenly very sure of himself in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time, if ever. “I have an idea, but I’m going to need a favor.”

“Name it,” Rick said, smiling slowly.

“It’s something I need to order online, but I don’t have credit cards or an alias.”

Rick grinned. “Done.”

\-----------

Because he knew it would drive him absolutely up the wall to wait for it to arrive, Bucky splurged on the extra twenty dollars it cost to expedite the creation of the custom order and shipping of it to the Lawfley house in a padded envelope. When it arrived in the mail, Rick examined it briefly, then continued flipping through the mail as if it were of minimal interest, taking bites of his sandwich between opening bills. Peyton raised an eyebrow at the conspicuous envelope and asked what it was. Rick continued reading the bill he was frowning at. “Just a silly tiny little part I ordered. That’s weird that our water bill hasn’t really changed.” His eyes slid to Bucky, then to Peyton, who was blushing and smirking. Rick shuddered and folded up the bill. “Never mind. I can imagine exactly how you and Black Ops are being so efficient. Ugh.”

Peyton shrugged and reached for her soda. “Just thinking of the environment.”

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking of. Maybe you need a place of your own. I know your boss pays you enough.”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “I am not committing to a year at a dump above a bar only a block from here. No thank you.”

Bucky couldn’t help thinking of Rick’s statement that Peyton didn’t even want to tie herself to her father and could see it right then. She had an excuse ready, but it was far flimsier than the reality she didn’t voice. She didn’t want to commit to another year in this town, at least not officially.

So why the hell was she okay with the idea of being tied to Bucky? Bucky with his veritable mountain of baggage and even a global terrorist organization chasing after him? Bucky who might be dead or worse at the drop of a hat?

He looked to Peyton then, felt that wave of warmth he always felt with her, and realized the answer. It was because, even on that first night when she sat down on the stool next to him and bought him a beer, he had trusted _her_ , _her_ when he had been avoiding his best friend who was willing to die rather than raise a hand to him on the helicarrier, _her_ when he couldn’t stop scanning the room for threats. She had seen that trust and had understood what it was worth.

When they finished lunch and Rick returned to the garage, taking the padded envelope with him, Bucky stopped Peyton from following with one hand on her hip. He didn’t exert any pressure of close his hand, just brushed his fingers along her skin and she stopped immediately and looked to him. “We should go somewhere tonight,” he said softly. “Somewhere it can be just us.”

A slow smile crept across Peyton’s lips and she licked them, looking down at his hand coyly. And unexpected pang of lust welled up in him. She met his gaze again and said, “I’d like that. And I have an idea I think you’ll like. It’s kind of a hick thing, but I promise it’s worth it.”

“Sounds great.”

Peyton grinned and went through the door and to the garage. Bucky had promised Mrs. Coleman a few blocks over four hours of work on the spare bathroom he was renovating for her, so he walked the opposite direction of the garage and went that way, forcing himself to ignore the aching in his chest that wanted to be by Peyton and wanted to open that envelope.

When Bucky finally returned to the Lawfley house, his wallet a little thicker and his back a little sorer, the hot water heater was empty and the shower was cool no matter how high he bid the temperature to go. Thinking of Peyton and that envelope chased away the memories of cryo and, frowning, he thought of how easily the dark thoughts could be warded off now, like they were washing away down the drain. It was strange and freeing.

When he got back to his room, the envelope was on the pillow, smuggled there by Rick per their arrangement. He shut the door and opened it eagerly, shaking the contents into his hand and staring in amazement. And if he cried like a damn child as he gripped it in his human hand, that was a fact only he would be privy to.

He found Peyton perched on a stool at the counter. She wore a flannel shirt, light green and white with the sleeves rolled up and the front unbuttoned far enough to reveal enough cleavage to make his chest tighten, and painted-on jeans over sandals. Her hair was in loose curls. He’d never seen it any way other than straight or the tight braids and buns she wore to prevent her hair getting caught in the wheels of her creeper or in an engine. The pale gold waves looked so soft and warm and inviting. He wanted to bury his face in them, breathe in their scent, and fall asleep like that. He’d been storing his things in his room, but sleeping in hers and reveling in it. She had been right. Boneless from making love to her and clutching her warm body to him, inhaling her scent, he’d slept nightmare free these last few nights. Peyton’s eyes were molten green as she smiled and watched him drink her in. “Looking for me?”

“Always,” he answered hoarsely. He crossed the room to her and wrapped her in his arms, ducking his hand to kiss her hair and scent it. Her soap smelled of apples, but there was an extra layer of something warm and heavy tonight, probably hair spray or perfume. Maybe vanilla?

“Well, you found me,” Peyton said softly, turning her head to kiss his shoulder, his left shoulder. Early on the attention she gave to the arm was always deliberate, meant to demonstrate that she didn’t mind the arm as much as he thought she should. Now she just behaved as if she hardly noticed the difference with the exception of very rare occasions where she betrayed an extra fondness for it, like the other night when she’d called it sexy and nearly stopped his heart.

If he let his mind meander too far down that path, they might never get to whatever Peyton had planned that would involve them being alone, though. He kissed her hair again, then said, “So where are we going tonight?”

“It’s a surprise. I made some preparations, but we do need to pick up a few things.”

“That’s fine. Should we go? Did you tell your dad we’ll be gone?”

Peyton nodded and he released her as she began to stand, his core chilled where her warmth disappeared from. “I told him. Let’s go.”

They went outside and Bucky followed Peyton to the gravel lot behind the garage. It was still late summer and the sun was bright in the clear sky, but creeping towards sunset. Peyton led him to a truck that must be either Rick’s or a recently-finished repair job and they got in. Bucky puzzled over the odd choice of vehicle when they could have taken the Challenger or his truck, but decided not to ask. He had a feeling the reason would make itself known soon enough.

‘Picking up a few things’ occurred at the town’s little grocery store. Bucky followed Peyton through the store too, tensely watching the area around them and listening for the sliding doors as Peyton added items to the basket he carried. A bag of chocolates. A plastic container of raspberries. A bottle of white wine that Peyton had to search extensively for despite the limited selection. Bucky watched that process with narrowed eyes until Peyton made a pleased sound and added the bottle to the basket.

Back in the truck, Bucky was again surprised when they parked in front of one of the bars. Peyton laughed at whatever facial expression he was wearing and told him to wait there. When she returned only a minute later, it was with a pizza box that she handed him. He was the one laughing then, though he admitted to her that it was a good idea. The smell of it quickly filled the truck, making his mouth water. Living with the Lawfleys involved a very limited food experience, but he couldn’t argue with eating pizza five times a week.

Peyton drove them north out of town past cornfields, farmhouses, tumbled down barns, and thin woods. She finally turned off on a dirt track that could have been a driveway or road that was too narrow and under-used to show up on a map. The road was bumpy and kicked up dust in the rearview mirror, but Bucky didn’t mind, especially since it meant they were getting farther and farther from civilization.

The road went straight between two fields, then wound around a sparse wooded area, then between more fields to an open yard surrounding a quiet little farmhouse. Peyton parked at the edge of the field and got out of the truck. As Bucky got out too, then followed her lead by heading towards the rear of the truck, Peyton said, “This is Gramps’s place. All the fields are rented out to other farmers now and the house is vacant, all the utilities turned off since he moved to the senior living facility, but the property was bought by my Grandpa Leon when he retired from the Air Force. He built the farmhouse and raised Gramps here, who lived with him here until he died and after. Grandma Lorraine and Grandma Constance both died young, so it made sense for Gramps to never leave the nest. I’ve thought about buying it myself but if I’m being honest, the thought of a mortgage terrifies me.”

Bucky couldn’t argue with that, even if it didn’t bode well for him. Peyton set down their grocery bag and efficiently unrolled the tonneau cover on the truck bed. In the bed waited a small pile of pillows and blankets. Bucky felt a fond smile spread across his face and he met Peyton’s eyes across the truck bed. She blushed and shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a very hick thing to do, but I thought you might like a good view of the sky.”

“You thought right,” he said quietly, stunned by the thoughtfulness. He’d seen so little of the sky in the last seventy years and nearly all of it was smoggy, light-polluted night skies. Even in Brooklyn, he had memories of sitting on a fire escape smoking and wishing he could see more stars through the fog and city glow. He had very few memories of the war, but he supposed he must have seen a few good sunsets and starry nights then. He’d never considered what he might be missing.

They climbed into the truck bed and sat, Peyton producing a pair of stemless wine glasses Bucky was surprised she and Rick owned. He realized what she’d been agonizing over in the wine aisle at the grocery store when she spun off a cap on the wine rather than producing a corkscrew. He chuckled at that. “Am I to assume that you own wine glasses but not a corkscrew.”

Peyton smiled, but didn’t looked up from pouring the wine. “Shut up, kitten. I threw away the corkscrew after the third cork I broke off in the bottle.”

He couldn’t resist laughing at that and Peyton glared half-heartedly at him, but handed him a glass anyway.

They ate the pizza and drank the wine, talking quietly as the sun sank in the west. When the light began to dim, Peyton scooted over to lean against the cab beside him and watch the sun set. It was a good sunset, turning the sky into ripples of gold, orange, pink, and red before the sun sank beyond the horizon and the colors turned into shades of purple, indigo, and blue. Stars began to slowly appear in the darkening sky above, dimly glowing at first, then getting a bit brighter in turn. Peyton broke out the chocolate and raspberries, alternating them and moaning quietly now and then in a way that had him very tempted to kiss her and get lost in her. He resisted because he didn’t want to miss any of the stars as they appeared, nor did her want to miss the opportunity to make happen the reason they were there.

As they sipped at what remained of the wine and as Bucky discovered, after some prodding from Peyton, that raspberries and chocolate might be, as she claimed, the sexiest food in the world, the sky darkened further to a dark blue, then black. The world didn’t get dark, though. Instead, the stars multiplied into millions and got brighter, turning a luminous white so far above. A very thin crescent moon kept the earth around them from total darkness, eclipsing the stars near it, though it did nothing to outshine those at the opposite end of the night sky.

Peyton pressed a kiss to his cheek and Bucky realized he was utterly breathless, in awe of the wide-open beauty stretched out around them, this expansive show of how wondrously large and infinite the universe was and how very small this time and this world were. They were nothing in the grand scheme of things, really, and the only purpose that made sense in this tiny speck of a life was to live for moments like this, enjoying a starry sky with the woman he loved. Bucky looked to Peyton, whose green eyes were so dark beneath the night sky and sparkled, reflecting the stars shining above. She was smiling so warmly at him, the love and trust and affection she had for him written so honestly across her face it took his breath away as entirely as the stars had.

Bucky set down his wine and reached out to her, brushing his fingers along the side of his neck and down, finding the chain of her dogtags and following it down further, over her collarbone and down to the rise of her breasts. Peyton smiled a little wider and he could feel her breaths deepen under his touch. Instead of giving in to the desire, though, Bucky carefully hooked the chain with one finger and pulled the tags out of her shirt, suspending them between them. “You still wear these,” he said softly. “Despite all the bad memories, you wear them every day.”

Peyton’s smile shrank, but didn’t disappear. She didn’t move to retract her tags or reach for him, just sat there waiting to see where this went. “I do,” she answered. “There are a lot of bad memories, but there are things that nothing can take from me, things that the tags represent and help me remember. Those things are part of me. How hard I worked to get to where I was. The successful missions. The records I broke flying. The joy and freedom of being in the air. The confidence that is a requirement of being able to do what I did. The people I saved by flying those missions. The people I lost who changed me by that loss. All of that is me and I don’t want to forget any of it.”

He held the chain gently between two fingers, then used his other hand to hook an identical chain at his neck, tugging a set of dogtags out of his shirt. Peyton’s eyes went wide as she stared at them, spinning slowly back and forth in the air. “I didn’t think you still had those,” she said very softly.

“I didn’t,” Bucky said, just as soft. “They took them when they took everything else. But your Gramps suggested that I have them recast.”

Her eyes met his, still wide with amazement. She said nothing, speechless, and he knew why. She understood the significance of having the tags back, having proof of his name and his identity hanging around his neck. Bucky leaned in a little closer, close enough to kiss her cheek before he dropped her tags, took one of her hands in his, and wrapped it around his tags. “I want you to carry one,” he whispered to her.

Tears rose in her eyes, shimmering in the starlight. “God,” she whispered. “James…are you sure?”

“Yes,” he answered. His voice was hoarse with emotion and he hoped he could make it through this without tears, but was also a little relieved that he was capable of that kind of feeling now, one of many things he could thank Peyton for. “You’ve had my six since you bought me that beer and I know that you’ll still have my six for the rest of our lives. There’s no one else I would trust with this, angel, but you gave me this. You gave me myself. And I want, more than anything, to be yours and have you carry a piece of me with you. This is everything I have, everything, and I know you’ll guard it just as carefully as you do your own tags.”

Peyton squeezed her eyes shut tight, two tears streaming down her cheeks. She opened her eyes again then, looking at him with so much feeling it was blinding. “I would be honored.”

His hands shook and the shallow breaths he took rattled in his chest as he unclasped the chain around his neck and carefully pulled one tag off it. With equally shaky hands, Peyton unclasped her chain. She stared at the tag on the palm of his hand for a moment, then smiled such a soft, wistful smile his heart nearly burst. She met his gaze and held it as she slid one of her tags off and offered it to him the same way. “Yes,” she said.

That little word in that quiet voice, so soft and yet so certain, was the entire world. He stared in amazement for a moment, stunned by the word and its implications, thinking he must have imagined it but how could he imagine something so real? “Yes?” he breathed, half in disbelief.

Peyton’s smile widened slowly, stretching far enough to nearly split her face, and her eyes sparkled in happiness and adoration. “Yes,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “Yes, I trust you. I trust you in the same way with that same thing and always will. This is the most important thing to you and the most important thing to me and if you’re willing to stake everything on this, I am too. You say you want to be mine and have me carry a piece of you. I want the same thing. And those are all reasons why yes, James Barnes, I will marry you.”

A stunned, amazed smile crept across his face too and when, a moment later, the words finished sinking in, he leaned in and kissed her until they were both breathless and laughing for no reason at all between kisses, no reason at all except being so damn happy. When they finally pulled apart, Bucky pulled her chain through his dogtag and clasped it around Peyton’s neck. Peyton gripped the two tags tight in one hand and kissed his, then dropped them down into her shirt, where she guarded them. Then, she did the same for him, sliding her tag onto the chain and clasping it around his neck. Holding her gaze, he echoed her action, clasping the tags so they clinked together and kissing hers, then tucking them into his shirt. They were cool against his skin and the edges of the metal were unmistakable for what they were, a constant reminder every bit as tangible and important as a ring. “I love you,” he whispered to her.

“I love you,” she answered. Then, she climbed into his lap and kissed him slow and heavy until he forgot all about the stars above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before "Got Your Six," I totally didn't see this coming, but once things started down this path, Rick-the-meddler cut the brakes and here we are. Bucky insisted and Peyton's been all-in since day one, so it was unavoidable despite being a crazy fast timeline. So maybe this is weird for some people, but it's really not weird for this couple. Fair warning, though, this fic can't be entirely fluff, so it will be balanced out by action before the end, probably after one more chapter. Fasten your seatbelts.


	10. Coming to Terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a distressingly long time since I updated and I apologize for that. The good news is that I have most of the remainder of this fic written and ready to go.

The stars were fading into a gloomy indigo sky when Bucky asked Peyton, “So whose truck did we just have sex all over?”

Peyton tossed a teasing smirk his way and said, “Well, we could be laying in the bed of _your_ truck, but the bed of _your_ truck is packed with enough weapons to storm the Pentagon, so I figured we’d have to make do with something else.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away from the pre-dawn sky to kiss her. “Baby, I could storm the Pentagon with only an armful of those weapons and you like that about me.”

“I _love_ that about you.”

They watched the sun rise, leaning against the tailgate now and looking over the cab of the truck towards the east. It lasted mere moments, but played across the Indiana horizon in a riot of golds and pinks. It was stunning and pure, but only lasted a moment. The smile that had been hovering about Bucky’s mouth all night flickered as they watched it and he found himself mumbling words under his breath, a half-remembered phrase. “Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold.” The words dried up there, but it felt incomplete and he frowned in confusion at the shard of a memory.

After a moment, Peyton whispered, “‘Nothing Gold Can Stay.’ My Air Force roommate was a Robert Frost fan too.”

“Robert Frost. Yeah, that’s where it’s from,” he murmured, still frowning in confusion and a strange nostalgic sadness.

They were quiet as the gold began to fade, just as the poem suggested, then Peyton kissed his cheek and whispered into his skin, “I feel it too.”

“They’re coming,” Bucky said quietly. There was no anger or fear, really, just resignation and a bit of weariness. “They’ll never stop looking for me.”

Peyton laid her hand over their dogtags splayed over his heart. They’d lost their clothes during the night and his skin was bare beneath her warm hand and the cool metal. “I’ve got your six,” she said grimly. “Let them come. We can take them.”

He sighed and laid a hand over hers. He never wanted to forget the way her fingers fit between his, but if they put him in the chair again, he knew he would. Nothing gold can stay. “I hope you’re right.”

They returned to the Lawfley house in time to join a smirking Rick for coffee in the kitchen as if it were a normal morning, except for the part where he got to watch them walk in the front door. He didn’t say a word, to Bucky’s relief, but when Peyton was out of sight, Rick clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as if in silent congratulations.

He hoped he did the right thing. A less selfish man would have walked away from Peyton, from everything that being with her meant to him. He wanted her to be safe and she only would if Hydra thought she had no value, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lose her, not now, not ever. She was everything now.

The day progressed normally with Peyton and Rick immersing themselves in their work (Peyotn finally finished the snowblower, but only five minutes later the sixteen-year-old Flynn from down the street hit a deer and brought his truck in for a new front end) and Bucky immersing himself in his routine of watching the town, keeping his body and weapons in optimal fighting condition, and finishing Mrs. Coleman’s bathroom. The day seemed ready to end without incident with spaghetti in front of the tv, but Peyton didn’t return to her spot on the couch after washing dishes, just lightly kicked his foot and gave him that sneaky smile. “Can I buy you a beer handsome?”

They went to the same bar where Peyton had bought him a beer that first night they met. This time, they grabbed a small table near the front of the bar, the last remaining stools available on a Friday night. Bucky’s nerve-endings twitched watching all the people. Peyton was watching them too, in between watching him, and that made him feel just a bit better. He trusted her to help keep an eye out. She dragged her foot up his calf under the table and murmured just loud enough for him to hear over the crowd, “Hey, Barnes. When’s the last time you saw me in a skirt?”

It was a relevant question. She was wearing a denim mini-skirt that he’d been doing his best not to think too hard about since she changed into it at the house. He blinked away the buzz of hypervigilance and narrowed his eyes at her. “Never.”

Peyton’s mouth curled into that tiny hint of a smirk. “And why would a practical woman ever wear a skirt?” There was really only one _practical_ use for a skirt that he could think of and that was the ease with which it could be pushed up out of the way. He raised his eyebrows at her and Peyton’s smirk deepened just a bit. “Would you consider me to be a practical woman, Barnes?”

“Most practical woman I know.”

“Good. Now try to relax. I don’t wear skirts for just any guy.” She winked at him and it was actually enough to make him smile and almost forget the noise of the bar around them.

They talked just loud enough to hear each other and drank one beer after another together, just like they had that first night. A bubble seemed to descend around them just like it had then and Bucky found himself feeling safer and, strangely, more relaxed as the evening went on. When Peyton finished her beer, grabbed his empty and said “one more” with a wink as she stood and made for the bartender, he didn’t panic and the bubble didn’t pop, just stretched. He watched the way her hips swayed and her bare legs flexed as she walked away, slipping out of sight to reach the bar.

He felt human. Like all of this was real and good and like he might actually be able to hold onto it and almost be worthy of it. Peyton was insistent that he was worth it and he didn’t think that was an opinion she’d made lightly.

Maybe he could call Steve.

Maybe he could _see_ Steve. Peyton would go with him in a heartbeat if he suggested it.

_Crash!_

The sound of a body being slammed through glass and onto the bar sent Bucky’s eyes snapping to the sound and his muscles moving automatically. Over the din of everyone stopping to ask what was going on, he heard Peyton’s voice full of vitriol. “Justin, I’ve told you a hundred times, _hands off_!”

So much for feeling human.

He must have looked as much like the Winter Soldier as he felt because the crowd parted like he was death itself and he got to Peyton and Justin in a moment. Justin, the same Justin who had hit on her in the garage, was doubled over the bar with his arm locked behind his back by Peyton, laughing as she hissed curses at him. “Yeah, yeah. If you wanted to impress me, you’ve done it, baby. I know you’re a tough girl.”

Bucky ground his teeth and a hush fell over the crowd as he carefully took Peyton’s wrist in his right hand. She looked to him, seemingly ready to unleash her rage on him too, but at the look in his eyes she let him pull her out of reach of Justin. The idiot was laughing harder and straightening when Bucky let go of Peyton and abruptly took over, slamming Justin’s face down on the bar much harder than Peyton had. “Ow!” Justin cried out, scrambling to get free. “Fuck! Let go, man!”

“Are those the same words she used?” Bucky asked, his voice the cold, hollow monotone of the Soldier. “‘Let go?’” With a sharp shift of Bucky’s weight, Justin’s shoulder popped out of the socket and he screamed like he was being murdered. It was a tempting thought that did wonders to lower Bucky’s blood pressure. While the man screamed, Bucky calmly pulled Justin’s wallet out of his back pocket and flicked it open with his gloved left hand. Indiana driver’s license. Justin was as photogenic as Bucky would have expected. “352 South Pine St. You’re Roxxi’s owner.”

Justin swallowed his screams as his face went sheet-white. “How do you know my dog?”

Bucky shrugged, still feeling cold, but confident. He was probably going to hate himself for this later, but this was what he _knew_ , what he was good at, and this jackass had put his hands on Peyton. He wasn’t even sure what the primary mission was these days, but one of the parameters was definitely to keep guys from putting their hands on Peyton. He could kill this mark and hunt and kill every other mark who touched her without her say, but there was another option here. He was an expert at killing, that was true, but he was also an expert at scaring the shit out of people. “I take a lot of walks,” he said in the Soldier’s voice. “Helps clear my head. She’s always in your front yard when I go past…wasn’t sure about me at first, but now when she sees me, she brings her ball right away for fetch. Very sweet but a shit guard dog. Rottweilers are only good for that if you put in the training time and you obviously didn’t.” Bucky replaced the wallet in Justin’s pocket and said, “So how badly do you wish I had listened when you told me to let go?”

“Please, man…come on…”

“What’s going to happen next time you lay hands on a girl who says ‘no?’”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Good answer.” With another hard shift of his upper body, Bucky shoved Justin’s shoulder back into the socket, causing him to scream again before the pain faded. Bucky took two steps back from him, giving him space to move. “Now, apologize to Peyton.”

Justin was shaking like a leaf and cradling his arm, which would be sore for days but otherwise perfectly fine. The crowd had gone silent and still around them, staring as the scene unfolded. Keeping Bucky firmly in his peripheral vision, Justin turned to Peyton, his handsome face blotchy with shame and pain. “Sorry, Peyton. Won’t happen again.”

Peyton was stone-faced and her voice clipped as she answered, “If it does, I’ll ask him to rip that arm clean off and you know he’ll do it.”

Bucky could _smell_ the fear on Justin. He was one step short of pissing himself, eyes darting constantly between Bucky and Peyton as he ducked his head and scrambled past her towards the door. The bar patrons parted for him, but unwillingly, one man giving Justin a shove to his injured shoulder that caused him to yelp in pain. When he’d stumbled out the door, murmurs erupted around the room.

Bucky’s eyes found Peyton’s and he offered her a hand tentatively. She forewent it and moved straight into his arms, digging her fingers into his shoulders. The room around them ceased to exist. Bucky enveloped her in his arms and kissed her hair, not giving a damn that everyone was staring at them, and asked her, “What happened, angel?”

“He was drunk. He started flirting with me, offering to take me home. He got an arm around me and I had just lost my patience and decided to shove him off when he slid his other hand up my skirt.” Bucky immediately saw red and was trying to break Peyton’s hold on him to go after Justin. That shit was going to die screaming. “Barnes, no,” she said firmly and he stopped instantly. A voice in the back of his head whispered that he’d do anything she asked without a second thought and he realized he didn’t really mind that. Her threat to Justin that she might ask him to rip the creep’s arm off and he’d do it was based squarely in reality. “You’ve done enough. He’s not going to come anywhere near me after that…you scared the shit out of him. Do you seriously play with his dog?”

“Yes.”

“Because you like dogs…?”

“I do it to convince them not to guard their territory from me, but I do really like dogs. They don’t judge. There’s a Doberman on Cedar Street that’s basically my therapist.”

Of all the responses he could’ve expected, he got Peyton laughing at that and kissing his shoulder. His left shoulder. He was never going to understand this woman. “We can get out of here if you want.”

He was about to agree when the bartender leaned over the bar beside them and, over the din of the newly-enlivened crowd, shouted, “Peyton! Next round for you and the badass boyfriend are on me. What do you want?”

Peyton laughed again and looked up at him, green eyes sparkling. “Two porters. And Christy, this is Barnes.”

The bartender, Christy, reached towards them and, thoroughly confused, Bucky released Peyton to shake her hand. She was smiling appreciatively at him. “Pleased to meet you, Barnes. Peyton’s not the first girl that creep has felt up in my bar. Thank you for your chivalry.”

He blinked in surprise, wondering if she’d actually been watching. Heat bloomed on his cheeks as the shame and eeriness of what he’d just done began to register. “Pleasure to meet you too, Christy, but dislocating a shoulder is not exactly the most chivalrous thing I’ve ever done.”

“Well, it’s the most chivalrous thing I’ve ever seen. Enjoy the beer.”

He accepted the beers from Christy and gave one to Peyton while they returned to their table. Peyton’s eyes were locked on him and when they sat, she leaned close across the table to say to him at a volume only he’d hear, “Thank you for doing that.”

Bucky’s eyes dropped to his beer and he lost himself in the dark liquid. “For almost pounding a civilian through a bar? For almost ripping that arm off instead of dislocating it?”

“Look at me.”

Like when she’d stopped him from chasing after Justin, he obeyed instantly. Her face was placid but her emerald green eyes were bright with fierceness. “You did nothing wrong, James. There’s nothing wrong with defending the people you love. Hell, if someone who laid a hand on you walked through those doors right now, I would not stop at dislocating a shoulder, I can promise you that.”

“The people who hurt me weren’t unarmed civilians,” he said quietly.

Peyton shot him a glare that nearly burned through his skull. “If I was physically capable of dislocating Justin’s shoulder, I would have, civilian or not. You won’t win this argument, Barnes. You did the right thing.”

After a moment’s silent stare down with Peyton, Bucky forced himself to exhale and look away, silently conceding defeat. Peyton laid her hand over his left and he reflexively wound their fingers together to keep her close. “It would only take a few words to make me that again,” he whispered. “It’s still there, even now, under my skin somewhere. For seventy years, violence was all I knew. Violence and pain and fear.”

Peyton squeezed his hand hard enough to make him meet her eyes. That ferocity was still there, but there was sadness too. “It’s not all you know anymore. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with your skills if you’re using them for good. You have a choice now, and if the choice is to use them to defend someone you care about, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He sighed and squeezed her hand back, but said nothing. As they drank their beers, he thought about what she’d said and about what the last few minutes had held. He thought about holding her as they watched the sun rise that morning, of those words, “nothing gold can stay.” When he’d left D.C., the plan had been to run until he remembered something useful, then use the information to chip away at Hydra one base at a time. He still liked the idea of that, but he’d gotten spoiled in the last few weeks with Peyton, feeling truly human for the first time since 1945, maybe since before Azzano, before Italy, before the first time he watched through his scope as he put a bullet in a guy’s brain. He remembered that now, remembered watching the German helmet fall off to reveal a kid who looked so much like Steve that Bucky nearly got himself shot because he was too busy vomiting and crying to shoot back at the kid’s comrades. This quiet life he led now with Peyton felt so damn good, so simple and safe. He didn’t want to go back to being the machine. He didn’t want to forget how to feel, didn’t want to forget anything she’d given him. The thought of letting even tiny traces of the Soldier leak through into this life made it feel fragile, like he could accidentally crush it like a butterfly he’d captured in his hands.

What if that didn’t have to be that way, though? What if there were pieces of the Soldier he was allowed to keep, just to protect Peyton and himself? Could he hold onto all the pieces of Bucky that she’d given him if he allowed the Soldier some space in his head too?

Bucky met Peyton’s eyes, which were boring into him, studying him, trying to follow his silent thought patterns. “You’re still not afraid of me,” he observed.

“I don’t flinch,” she said, her jaw like iron. “I know who you are, James. I know what you’re capable of. It doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the thought of losing you. I know you can fight them off. You could destroy them if you wanted to. What scares me is the thought that you might be too afraid of yourself to do it when the time comes.”

He ran his thumb over the calluses on her hands, the short nails with a bit of engine grease under them she couldn’t quite get clean, the delicate fingers that she liked to run through his hair when they laid together exhausted and satiated, soothing him to sleep. He met her eyes, shards of jade burning into him, and let the Soldier answer. “I won’t be. They will come and they will try to take this from me. And when they do, they will wish they’d left me in the snow all those years ago.”

Peyton’s eyes softened even as her lips curved into a smile like a blade.


	11. Nothing Gold Can Stay

They did come.

It happened three days later. They were on their way back from a successful second visit with Gramps, during which Bucky had surreptitiously shown Gramps the chain of the dogtags around his neck and Peyton had reclaimed her title as reigning Sheepshead champion. Peyton was trying to educate Bucky via sound torture on why Guns N’ Roses was the best band in existence as she turned the corner in her Challenger. One moment, they were laughing and he was thinking to himself that she’d never convince him to like Guns N’ Roses, but he loved the look in her eyes when “You Could Be Mine” played on the radio. A moment later, there was the deafening screech of metal chewing through metal, the shattering of glass, and the world turned sideways. Literally.

Pain. Crushing pain in his chest that told of broken ribs and serious bruising. Searing pain in open wounds where the broken glass had ripped the skin of his face, collarbone, and right arm wide open. Throbbing pain in at least two fingers on his right hand that were broken.

And he was a lot more durable than Peyton.

His eyes snapped open and he found her still in her seat next to him, unconscious, badly cut and already bruising, and bleeding from a head wound. Shards of glass were protruding from bleeding wounds on her cheek, upper chest, and arms. There weren’t airbags in the Challenger, or they hadn’t deployed properly. Either way, there were no airbags to speak of and Peyton’s chest bore the mottled fresh bruises of her seatbelt and steering wheel. They were hanging upside-down, Peyton’s blond hair a waterfall around her head. The Challenger had rolled over once during the collision. 

All of his own pain evaporated as adrenaline, worry, and rage ripped through him. This wasn’t an accident. This was Hydra and they’d be coming to finish the job and he was going to make them beg for death for doing this to her. 

Bucky braced himself against the roof of the Challenger and unbuckled his seatbelt, rolling into a pool of broken glass. Very carefully, he cradled Peyton’s face in his hands to hold her still and soothe her, then kissed her forehead far from her injuries and whispered, “Peyton? Peyton, talk to me. Come on, angel, wake up.” 

She was unresponsive long enough to have him within inches of hyperventilating, but then her face tightened in pain and her eyes opened to slits. “James?” she whimpered.

“Yeah, baby, I’ve got you.”

“James…you’re hurt. And upside-down.”

His heart stuttered. “I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me. Stay still…you have a head injury and I don’t know what else.”

She whimpered in pain and obeyed, her muscles shaking but otherwise perfectly still. “My dad. Call my dad.”

“We don’t have time, beautiful.”

Her eyes opened wide then and locked on him, suddenly clear and focused. “You think this is Hydra. How long?”

“I’m going to go see if the other driver is alive and awake. They’ll know. They won’t be far, though. I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” She nodded and he positioned himself under her, then unbuckled her and carefully dragged her out of the cramped driver’s side and into his lap. Whoever had T-boned the Challenger had hit the front-end, narrowly missing crushing Peyton’s legs. Murder was pounding through his veins. He drew the gun from his hip holster and placed it securely in Peyton’s right hand. Tears filled her eyes, but before she could object, he said, “You need to stay here while I talk to the other driver. Right now, we’re hurt but safe. The gun is in case that changes. Okay?”

“James, don’t…”

“Not negotiable. Please don’t move and don’t engage unless you’re in danger. I mean it, Peyton.” She glared at him and, when the next thing out of her mouth was an obscenity, he knew she was in good enough shape to risk walking away from her for just a moment. He bent and kissed her forehead again, ignoring her complaints, then crawled out of the car through the shattered passenger window and onto the glass-littered street.

The other driver was alive and awake, moaning in pain and struggling to extricate himself from his own car. He was in plain clothes, which was almost enough to fool Bucky when he was covered in his own blood, but he was also holding a gun. Bucky moved a little faster and kicked the gun out of the way before grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck and hauling him a foot closer through broken glass. The man cried out in pain and looked up with enough terror in his eyes to tell Bucky that he knew exactly who he was and what he was willing to do to him. “How far out is the team?” Bucky growled at him. The man seemed to choke on his words and Bucky shook him. “Tell me now or I’m going to start breaking every bone in your body, including the ones that are already broken.”

Eyes wide with fear, the man’s eyes flickered to the street stretching out behind Bucky. Then, he bit down and Bucky watched in horror as his mouth filled with foam that was pink with blood. “Hail Hydra,” he mumbled through the foam.

Bucky shoved the corpse away from him, grabbed the discarded gun, and ran back to the Challenger as tires squealed in the distance. “Peyton!” he shouted. She’d heard the tires squeal, though and was already halfway out of the car despite his warning not to move. He was worried about her head and spine, but she was moving fine and the Challenger would not stop a bullet or an RPG. He skidded to the side of the car and helped drag her out and onto her feet. Her eyes were on the road ahead and he turned to watch three black SUVs that he would bet money were bulletproof rush towards them. He raised the gun and fired two rounds, taking out the front tires of the first car and sending it careening sideways and rolling, the second car colliding with it. He grabbed Peyton by the arm and they ran for the nearest side street. He had memorized every street in this town when he’d decided to stay and he used that now, ducking through alleys to avoid gunfire.

They ducked into a side street heading north and sprinted down it as one of the SUVs made the turn. Bucky pulled Peyton ahead of him and to his left, putting her closer to the buildings and his arm between Hydra and her. Gunfire rang out and he returned fire over his shoulder until Peyton tugged them down an alley too narrow for the SUV. They were only a block from the Lawfley’s and his armory, but it felt like miles. Bullets glanced off his left arm and he fired back, taking out the two Hydra agents getting out of the near side of the SUV. As they neared the mouth of the alley, Peyton pulled up short, shouting obscenities as the third SUV pulled up in front of her. She raised her gun and fired as the SUV unloaded, making almost every shot, but not fast enough. One weapon, quieter than the others, fired and she stumbled backwards into his arm. He caught her and lowered her to the ground, crouching over her and continuing to shoot as he looked her over. He saw the dart and ripped it out of her chest, but it was already empty. “Tranquilizer,” he said shortly, continuing to fire back at the Hydra agents as they closed in. He was too focused on her to make every shot and suddenly he was out of rounds and reaching for his knives. 

Peyton latched onto his wrist with one hand and he met her gaze as she mumbled, “I love you.” Then she was unconscious, her hand dropping to the gravel.

Rage overtook fear and he stood and began throwing knives at the smaller team as he rushed the larger one, throwing kicks and punches indiscriminately and sending them one-by-one to the ground. He took two darts to the chest and ripped them out. Peyton had gone down fast, but she was half his weight and wasn’t enhanced. Two bullets connected with his shoulder and he spun to refocus on the other team, pushing them back just before they reached Peyton. They weren’t shooting at her.

Well, they weren’t taking her. Not while he was breathing.

More gunfire, but bodies were dropping that weren’t his marks. In the confusion, he finished off the smaller team with two more broken necks and spun to watch the last of the larger team fall with bullets to their heads. From around the corner, Rick ran down the alley, murder in his eyes and the Barrett 50cal slung over his shoulder. He saw Peyton and dropped to her side as he asked Bucky, “I got the third SUV. Are there more?”

“There will be when they don’t report in,” Bucky said, every bit as angry as Rick. “She’s tranquilized, but not shot and I don’t think concussed.”

“Then let’s go,” Rick said, scooping her into his arms and lifting like she weighed nothing. Bucky scooped up two Hydra guns that still held rounds and covered him as they hurried back the way Rick had come, checking corners as they went. “What’s your plan, Barnes?”

“We need to get my truck and take it as far as we can go, no cities big enough for traffic cams.”

“These must be the friends you made doing wetwork?” he asked drily.

“Something like that. They’re Hydra and until recently, they had me brainwashed to kill people for them.”

“Great,” Rick growled. “The good news is you’re good at that and not interested in going back.”

They reached the back lot of the garage then and Rick laid Peyton in the backseat of the truck. “We should pick up Gramps,” Bucky said, feeling sick as he thought it.

Rick groaned. “I hate these bastards.”

There was the whine of an engine Bucky knew well and he grabbed Rick’s arm, tugging him down between the cars just as the jet rushed overhead, shots exploding in the pavement between them and Peyton. It was all the time Hydra needed as another black SUV spun into the lot and arms reached for her. “Fuck!” Bucky snarled, rushing forward to grab the nearest firearm and start shooting. But they already had Peyton’s limp body between him and a decent shot and he couldn’t shoot her, he fucking couldn’t, and he stood there powerless with a rifle at his shoulder, watching as in a matter of seconds, they dragged her into the SUV and took off.

“Get in the fucking truck!” Rick snapped, and he did, accepting the 50cal as Rick went for the driver’s seat. Rick peeled out of the lot and followed the SUV. Overhead, they could hear the jet approaching again. “Fuck! Where are they taking her?”

“Nearest Hydra base. If we follow them, they’ll blow us sky-high, destroy you and my armory.” Bucky ground his teeth. “They’re forcing me to fight on their terms and we have to let them. I can find her in one phone call.”

“If you can’t save her, I will kill you,” Rick said seriously. He spun the truck off Hydra’s trail and onto a narrow sidestreet, though. “I don’t give a fuck who you are, you better believe I can kill you.”

Bucky screwed his eyes shut tight, knuckles white on his rifle as he said, “If I can’t save her, I’ll let you kill me.”

\-------------

The jet didn’t follow them because the plan was to make him come to them where they’d be better equipped to incapacitate him and put him back in the fucking chair. In the sudden quiet, Rick drove them to Gramps’s facility and ran inside while Bucky used his phone to dial the series of numbers he’d worked out to get to the secure line he needed. He’d gotten the numbers while he was still in D.C. and had never used them, but he knew he’d want them eventually. Finally, a voice he’d know anywhere picked up. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Steve.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky…how did…never mind.” Steve’s voice was choked and exhausted and terrified. Bucky couldn’t help thinking of Peyton’s assertion that Steve was probably doing everything in his power to find him and disable Hydra while he searched. It sounded like he’d hardly slept in the last three months. “Where are you?”

“Indiana. Start tracking me. I need you to find the nearest Hydra base.”

“Fuck,” Steve hissed. “Tracking now. What the hell are you doing, Buck? And there aren’t any _known_ Hydra bases in Indiana.”

“Well, there must be an unknown one because I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere a hundred miles from the nearest traffic cam and they managed to get four SUVs and a jet here. Come on, Steve, they just kidnapped a civilian I have to rescue.”

“I’ve got your location and I’m coming to you. I have Stark’s AI looking for suspicious activity that might indicate a base near you. Nat! We have a flight to catch! Bucky, can you please not do anything until I get there?”

Rick was loading Gramps into the backseat then, though, as the old man hissed instructions for folding the wheelchair at him. “Not an option. I am not finding out the hard way what they’re planning to do to her, Steve. I need that base as of ten minutes ago.”

“I’m in a quinjet heading your way. It’s not south of you. Tell me about the civilians involved.”

“Drive north,” he told Rick. “The woman they have is Peyton Lawfley, former Air Force pilot. She has minor injuries from a car crash and last known to be tranquilized. In the car with me I have her dad, Rick Lawfley, and grandfather Gerald Lawfley, both also Air Force, both uninjured. No other civilians involved…yet.”

“How’d they find you?”

“Best I can figure, I made a bad enough impression on someone that they started looking for me in a police database and accidentally tipped Hydra off.”

Rick raised an eyebrow and said, “Probably one of the idiots you pissed off in the last few weeks.”

“Probably,” Bucky growled. “If it was that bastard Justin, I’m going to skin him alive. Come on, Steve. It has to have a runway for the jet. It’s probably somewhere with…unnatural electrical activity.”

“Why would…never mind. I’ve got two possible, one and three hours north. What else?”

“Have either of them received deliveries of medical equipment?”

“Jesus, Buck…yes. Just north of Indianapolis. Sending address and coordinates now.”

The phone buzzed in his hand. “Got it. Send backup. They’re trying to bring me in, so they’ll have everything they could get ready and waiting. Our only advantage is that they’re rushing it, probably afraid I’m still on the move. That’s the only reason why they would operate this way, they don’t have the right people in place yet. If they manage to…activate me…well, you remember D.C.”

“Vividly. Are you okay, Buck?”

“I will be when I have Hydra in my scope. Thanks, Steve.” He hung up and checked the address. “North side of Indianapolis. Address is Cicero.”

“I know where that is. Had to pick up _someone’s_ broken down piece of shit car there once.”

“That was thirty fucking years ago!” Gramps said. Then, he looked to Bucky and said, “And were you just on the phone with Captain fucking America? Don’t think I missed that.”

“Why would he be on the phone with…” Rick’s eyes went wide and snapped to Bucky, then back to the road. “Jesus fucking Christ. I knew you looked like…but you were dead seventy years ago!”

“Dead is relative,” Bucky said drily. “I was too busy being brainwashed and assassinating people to care about the fact that I had a death certificate.”

Rick ran his fingers wearily through his hair. “Black ops. Jesus. Peyton knows?”

“She figured it out from the face I made when she told me about Blizzard. And Gramps recognized me straight-off. I’m getting sloppy.”

“Women will do that to you,” Gramps said slyly.

“Apparently. Hasn’t been a problem before.”

“But I suspect you’ve never dated a pilot before.”

He rolled his eyes. “It always comes back to that. Damn pilots.”

Both Rick and Gramps chuckled at that, then the mood sobered again. Finally, Gramps broke the silence by asking, “And what exactly is it you plan to do with me while you storm a Hydra base? I’ll admit I’m not as useful as I once was what with the bum leg and shit eyesight.”

Bucky looked to Rick, who was smirking as he said, “We’re going to put you into protective custody.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. We’re going to pick a small town where it’s very unlikely that Hydra has planted police officers, and we’re going to get you booked in jail. We’ll bail you out tomorrow if we survive.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, but Gramps just groused quietly that, “That was supposed to be a one-time thing.”

Thirty minutes and one bottle of whiskey later and they left a very drunk Gramps to wheel his way down a main street in a town just barely large enough to have its own police station and jail cell. As they drove away, Bucky watched in the rearview mirror as Gramps rolled his way to a pair of young women to drunkenly flirt with them and snorted. “So, you’ve done this before?”

With a completely straight face, Rick said, “That’s classified.”

“So, last time it was you who got the drunk and disorderly?”

Rick quirked an eyebrow. “And how many times did you and Captain America get booked in jail cells?”

Bucky snorted. “That I remember? Eleven…twelve? Steve liked to pick fights and my dumb ass was always around to finish them.”

“And now you pick fights with Hydra?”

That shut him right down and he felt the Winter Soldier stirring again, only this time, he was more than willing to let him take over…and unleash his skills on Hydra. To Rick, he growled, “They started it, and just like I did a hundred times in Brooklyn, I’m going to finish it.”

“Okay, tough guy. You were a contract killer for a long time. Fine. I’ve met a few of those guys, though, and some of them work with teams or only do a job once in a while. Are you as dangerous as you think you are or am I going to be doing all the work here?”

“Stop me when you’ve heard a name you recognize. Alexander Litvinenko? Benazir Bhutto? Yitzhak Rabin? Nicholas Fury? John F. Kennedy?”

Rick very nearly drove off the road and Bucky reflexively caught the wheel and steadied them. “Rabin and Kennedy both had confirmed killers,” Rick said weakly once he was back in control of the truck.

“It was important that they die and that no one look too hard for their real killers. Even then, SHIELD did plenty of sniffing around and nearly found Hydra. Peggy Carter was in charge then. If she’d still been in charge in ’06, she would have had me for Litvinenko, but she’d just retired and Pierce swept it under the rug.”

“So, you’re some kind of master assassin. On the phone you mentioned D.C. That was you?”

“Wrecking D.C.? Almost getting the Insight helicarriers online? Killing civilians, Nick Fury, a lot of SHIELD agents and almost Captain America? Yeah…that was me.”

“Because you were brainwashed…and now you’re not.”

“I wasn’t built for infiltration if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said drily. “Peyton says I was just a weapon and she’s not wrong. They wiped my brain of all thoughts and memories, handed me a black folder, and threw me on a plane. Two days later, they’d scrape the blood from under my nails and put me back in cryo. I’m definitely not brainwashed now and haven’t been since D.C. They kept me out of cryo too long and thought they could send me after Steve, but he broke my conditioning. No more Winter Soldier.”

“Winter Soldier…I suppose I wouldn’t have heard of you, that’s the whole point. On the phone you used the word _activate_.”

“A lot of the important people in Hydra fell with SHIELD, but not all of them. ‘Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.’ There are activation words that a select few people know…trigger words…that work like a reset button. Said all in a row in the right order, they reactivate the Winter Soldier.”

“And what? You start destroying everything that isn’t Hydra?”

“That would involve me thinking,” Bucky said hollowly. “The words put me at square one, zero thoughts, just waiting for orders. Ready to comply.”

“And that’s why they took Peyton. To draw you in and reactivate the Winter Soldier?”

“If they’re successful, a lot of people will die, starting with you and Peyton. If they do trigger me, the right thing to do would be to put a bullet in my head.”

That quieted Rick and they traveled all the way around Indianapolis in silence.


	12. They're Not Taking You

Just south of Cicero, they pulled over to gear up. The Winter Soldier tactical gear fit more snugly everywhere now that he was eating real food instead of MRE’s and nutritional IV’s. He remembered vividly and did not miss the constant gnawing hunger of the serum eating away at him while Hydra kept him just barely operational. He had more muscle and flesh on every inch of him, but the leather and Kevlar just barely fit. Rick didn’t comment on his exposed left arm, but did stare at it with wide eyes for a moment before recovering. Bucky produced a spare set of gear that Rick eyed skeptically before donning, the jacket left unzipped to account for his pizza gut. Next came weapons. Two dozen knives. Four guns. Sniper rifle over the shoulder. Ammo everywhere it fit. Rick shook his head watching him and stuck to one combat knife, two handguns, and the Barrett 50cal. They didn’t have blueprints, just a satellite image and an address. There would be no finesse, no sneaking around, no waiting for backup or cover of dark. They weren’t far behind Peyton’s captors and Bucky wasn’t going to give them a second longer than strictly necessary with her strapped to a table.

The compound was a former rural airport. Most of it would no doubt be underground and had to be considering how little there actually was to the complex. The jet wasn’t there, but the electric fence and security checkpoint at the front gate were state of the art. They were in the right place.

An RPG destroyed the guardhouse before Hydra had a chance to try and tell the locals that the airport wasn’t open to civilians. Another blew open the gate and a combination of Rick’s determined driving and the Ram’s solid front-end got them through and speeding across the tarmac, bullets rushing through the air between them and the compound every step of the way. “She won’t be in the hangar,” Bucky shouted over the gunfire. “She’ll be underground in the office building.”

The tires screamed as Rick braked and banked the truck towards the air traffic control tower and the office building connected to it. Bucky put three well-placed shots into the tower and bullets stopped returning from that direction. Then, they were shooting their way into the building.

The main floor looked like the rural airport it was meant to be, except for the goons in Hydra uniforms shooting at them. These were the front-lines, though, and Hydra was too short-staffed these days to put their heavy-hitters here. They went down easily. They cleared the main floor in two minutes, then descended the concrete stairwell they found and blew through a security door that wasn’t meant to withstand the kind of explosives that came standard-issue in the cargo pockets of Bucky’s tact pants. Down here, red lights flashed at twenty-foot intervals down the winding corridors and alarms blared to announce the intrusion, but they were met with minimal resistance as they checked offices, a war room, a server room, and two labs.

Then, the sound of footsteps approached from around the next corner. Bucky and Rick flattened themselves against the wall near the corner, waiting. Just before they sprung out, the footsteps faltered, like the person had spun around, and gunshots rang out. The source of the footsteps, a man in a Hydra uniform, crumpled beside them full of bullets, his gun clattering to the floor. 

A wave of relief washed through him at the sight and his shoulders sagged. “Peyton?”

“Barnes?”

Instantly, they spun the corner and Peyton had her arms and legs wrapped around him and was kissing him fiercely. For just a moment, it didn’t matter that they were in the belly of a Hydra base and that they were right where the bastards wanted him. With her arms around him and her lips on his and her hair in his face, he was home. When Peyton decided she could handle letting him go and Bucky could handle allowing her, he let her drop to her feet, her eyes flicking from him to her dad, who she smothered in a hug next. “If you slip me the tongue, we’re leaving you here,” Rick grumbled. His eyes were wet with tears, though, and he fooled no one. 

Peyton released him after a long moment, then moved with them, eyes never leaving them as she followed their path outward. “Thank God,” she breathed. “I have no idea where I am and these people apparently don’t believe in maps. It would’ve been a confusing drive out.”

They matched her speed, but Bucky’s eyes were all on her, assessing bruises, analyzing whether she seemed to still be drugged, checking her bare arms for needle marks. When he was satisfied that the worst she’d acquired were a few nasty bruises and that Hydra had pulled all of the broken glass from the car crash out of her, he breathed another sigh of relief. “I was so fucking afraid, angel,” he said, letting all the worry of the last two hours bleed into his voice. “I thought we were going to find you strapped to a table.”

“I was strapped to a table very briefly,” Peyton said wryly. “But they were dumb enough to believe they knew anything about tranquilizers and left me with only one guard. I only had to wait about twenty minutes for an opportunity to present itself.”

“If you tell me that you let some Hydra creep touch you…” Rick growled dangerously, echoing Bucky’s own thoughts.

Peyton batted off his concerns. “He didn’t get that far. He did come close enough for me to headbutt his nose into the back of his skull.” Footsteps, lots of them, approached the next corner and the three of them hurried to get there and grab a position against the wall. “Ready, boys?” she whispered.

“Let me take point and act as cover,” Bucky said, all but twitching at the thought of that many guns pointed at Peyton and Rick. “They don’t want to kill me.”

Peyton audibly ground her teeth, but nodded. He spun around her, both pistols ready, and opened fire on the team of Hydra operatives approaching. There were cries of pain and fear as the team raised their own weapons, by which point Peyton and Rick were flanking him. They had the entire team down in seconds, sixteen of them. Peyton dropped an empty magazine and said, “Anybody got twenty-twos?” Bucky handed her a magazine and she reloaded, then they were moving forward again. 

When the next Hydra team they met was a group of twelve, Bucky hissed and holstered his weapons. Peyton eyed him curiously, but, after a moment’s thought, Rick also holstered his. “There’s a really good chance we’re going to run out of ammo before we make the truck and I want the ammo for distance kills,” Bucky explained, offering Peyton a knife. 

She took the knife and twirled it once over her fingers as if to test the weight, surprising him, then jammed her handgun in her waistband. “Alright. Let’s roll.”

Bucky had never sparred with Peyton or Rick, never seen them in action, and both had been out of action for some time, Rick for years now. By the time they reached the main floor of the base, though, the three of them were covered in blood that belonged to other people and Bucky was sneaking incredulous looks at the two pilots. In a moment of breathing space as they escaped the stairwell and found the lobby empty, he muttered, “Black Ops, huh?”

Rick just smirked. “You never know when you’ll have to bail out thirty miles into enemy territory and have to walk home with nothing but a shit-ass rifle and an Army-issue pocketknife. You have to know your shit.” The roar of a plane engine approaching wiped the smirk off his face and they all froze, watching through the windows as a bomber plane landed and unloaded a team of twelve Hydra soldiers, all much better-armed and much smarter-looking than the goons they’d been mopping the floor with. The bomber ripped down the tarmac again the moment the last man disembarked and was back in the air in seconds. “Where did that come from?”

“That,” Bucky said in the Soldier’s voice, “is the asset extraction team and that plane won’t be the last.” He met Rick’s eyes meaningfully and nodded towards the tower stairwell. “We’re going to need a sniper.”

Rick stared at him for a moment, then his jaw hardened and he nodded. “You’ve got one.” Rick turned to Peyton, then, and grabbed her in a fierce, but brief hug. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“How can I?” Peyton asked slyly. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Something echoed strangely in his head and he had to shake it to clear it. Then, Rick was running up the stairs and Peyton was leading the way to race the extraction team to the truck and the armory inside.

The moments after they burst through the lobby doors and onto the tarmac were a blur of gunfire, knives, and hand-to-hand. He was built for this and trusted his muscles and his mind to know what to do and flowed through the fight, battling to get through to his arsenal and to keep the fighters away from Peyton. These men were much stronger than their predecessors, better trained, built for the task of bringing him in. They did not go down easily and not all the blood on the pavement was Hydra’s, though Bucky’s adrenaline was pumping too high for him to feel whatever wounds he was collecting.

Then, it all came to a screeching halt.

He saw the barrel of the gun pointed at her head and he froze. Just froze. Logically, he knew that he could save her easily before that gun went off but he was inexplicably terrified of trying and failing. Instead, he stood there for a beat, they all stood frozen as he stared at Peyton on her knees with fingers that weren’t his wound into her hair and a muzzle at her temple. Her eyes were wide with panic and ferocity and she was breathing heavily and looked ready to tell him off for stopping, for not fighting even if it risked her. 

Then, one of the fighters spoke. “ _Zilánie_.”

Instantly, a buzzing, rattling sound began to shake his skull from the inside and he grimaced against the pain, his hands going to his head.

“ _Ržávyj_ ,” a different fighter continued. The pain intensified and his vision vibrated in and out as rage and fear and illness swept through him. These were the trigger words, the words they used to activate him after a wipe, the words that turned him back into a monster. He forced himself to look up and try to fight the words and found Peyton fighting tooth and nail to free herself and get to him, tears in her eyes, blood under her nails as she clawed at the man holding her. If they successfully activated him, they’d have him kill her and then they’d drag him right back to Hydra and that was not acceptable. 

Not acceptable.

Before another word could be uttered to weaken him further, he threw a knife out of nowhere right through the hand of the fighter holding Peyton and into his gut. As he released her and careened sideways, shots were fired and he saw blood spatter before he got Peyton in his arms, using himself as a human shield. Two more bullets hit him, one landing in his shoulder just outside the protection of his Kevlar before they stopped, afraid of damaging him too badly. He was Hydra property after all.

“ _Péčʹ_.”

Another shudder wracked him and a groan of pain broke free before he stomped it down, trying to smother the crackling inside his skull that reminded him so vividly of the chair. Peyton clutched at him frantically. “James? Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help.”

“You can’t help,” he groaned as the world shook. “They’re my trigger words. I can hold them off until they say the last one, but I need you to get as far away from me as you can.”

She stared up at him with eyes like glinting emeralds, shaking her head firmly. He hadn’t told her that the main reason Rick was heading for a sniper’s perch was to shoot _him_ , not Hydra, but the look in her eyes suggested she knew. “No. I told you I’m not letting them take you and I meant it.”

“Damn it, Peyton…”

“ _Rassvét_.”

He cried out again and his muscles seized briefly. In that moment, Peyton kissed his forehead and he felt four of his remaining knives leave their sheaths. She’d known right where they were.

There were three screams and four bodies hit the ground, the fourth apparently an instant kill, maybe through the eye or throat. In the moment of shock that followed, Peyton slithered from his arms and raised a gun in each hand that she’d gotten off of him in the moment after throwing his knives. She stood in the line of fire, sending his heart into his throat, and, with death in her eyes, fired six times in quick succession, dropping six silent bodies. A remaining Hydra fighter fired back, slamming her a step back with the force of the bullet, but her Kevlar withstood it and she moved faster, dodging three more shots as she fired wildly at the remaining men closing in on them, trying to improve their likelihood of hitting her and missing Bucky.

“ _Simnátsatʹ_.”

His muscles seized again and he dug his left hand into the pavement, fingers turning it to gravel as he tried to hold in a scream and force himself upright. He had to stop this. He couldn’t watch her die.

Then, there was a series of long-range shots, four of them in quick succession, that dropped the remaining fighters soundlessly. Peyton instantly dropped to her knees and for a horrible moment, he thought she been hit too, but then she crawled to him and wrapped both arms around him. “We’re okay. My dad has the guard tower. We’re clear.” He couldn’t speak and his entire body was shuddering. His vision was nothing but static, horrible black pits and burning flashing white light. Peyton kissed his temple as the chaos threatened to overwhelm him and said, “Barnes…James. Talk to me, baby. Tell me what to do.”

“I don’t think they’ve ever stopped partway through,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ve tried to stop it, but never succeeded. I feel like I’m going to vibrate out of my skin. Fuck…there will be a backup team that also knows the words.”

Peyton just held him for a moment as he shook and seized doubled-over on the pavement. Then, she said, “What if I finished the words and told you to treat them as nothing more than words in the future?”

He shuddered again. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it works like that.”

“You can’t stay like this and we can’t let them be the ones to trigger you. Tell me what to say.”

Her commanding tone grounded him in this world and he found himself totally relying on her in so many ways as he admitted defeat. “You told me you know Russian.”

“My accent is shit, but I know plenty.”

“Close enough. Whatever happens, don’t stop until the end. The sequence is only halfway through and we don’t have much time. Benign.”

“ _Dabrasirdéčnyj_.”

Pain surged through him and he gasped through it, “Nine.”

“ _Dévjitʹ_.”

More pain, burning pain like the serum in his veins, like acid rushing through him. He cried out and Peyton tightened her grip on him, grounding him in reality enough to force out the next word. “Homecoming.”

“ _Vozvraščénije na ródinu_.”

His vision whited out and his hearing echoed strangely like his eardrums had burst. Through the pain and the fog, he said, “One.”

“ _Adín_.”

That wrenched a full scream from his throat before he could stop it and Peyton dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Come on, baby,” she said. “Almost there. Come on.”

He didn’t want to. There was so much pain and he was so fucking scared of what would happen when she said that last word. But he was pretty sure the pain wasn’t going to fade until the last word was spoken and it needed to be done now when there wasn’t someone from Hydra there to take over. “Freight car,” he whimpered.

“ _Gruzavój vagón_.”

The pain instantly evaporated and his mind cleared, feeling suddenly like a blank slate. His muscles relaxed into submission and he allowed her to hold onto him though her fingers were digging bruises into his right shoulder, which was an important tool to have honed for battle. The bullet lodged in his other shoulder between Kevlar and metal told him that there had been and probably would continue to be battle. “James?” she asked in a weak, quivering voice.

For some reason, he chose to answer in English. He didn’t know why. “Ready to comply.”

A shudder wracked her and she asked, “Those words I said…do you remember them?”

“Every one.”

“Good. I want them to become meaningless to you, just words. They don’t mean compliance, they don’t mean forgetting, they are nothing.”

He frowned at the strange directive, but shuffled things around in his mind, seeking out the mental cues the words provided and breaking them down as best as he could. He’d never liked them anyway. They made him feel strange and hollow. When he was empty like this, they were easy to find, though, and easy to take a figurative sledgehammer to. He did it one-by-one in reverse order in the interest of thoroughness. He was trained to be thorough in all tasks. When, after a few moments, he was satisfied with his work, he said, “Mission complete. Would you like to evaluate?”

The girl, still holding him tight as if afraid he’d disappear, said, very softly, “ _Zilánie_.”

Absolutely nothing happened and he looked her in the eye so she could see that. She had green eyes. She swallowed hard and said the second word, “ _Ržávyj_.”

Still nothing. After two beats of nothing, she breathed a sigh of relief and tears flooded those green eyes. They felt oddly familiar to look at. “Fuck,” she moaned. “That scared the shit out of me. You have no idea how glad I am that that worked.”

His mouth moved unbidden and sounds came out that he heard as if from a distance. “They’re just words now, beautiful.” He frowned at that, at his apparent desire to reassure her and at the term of endearment.

The girl stared at him in shock, then licked her lips and whispered, “Thank god. I thought this part would be much harder. I need you to come out of this state and never go back. You’re dissociated, the words distanced you from the rest of your mind, your memories, your personality, your free will. I want you to find those things and reattach them.”

Another strange request, but it explained why he felt so weird and empty and he hated that feeling, so the request was welcome. He rummaged around in his mind again, finding so many odd empty spaces. With a little pushing, though, things began to come back. The girl was beautiful, like he’d said, and studying her features helped, bringing back words and feelings that felt distant but true. A set of dogtags hung from a chain around her neck, bringing up a wave of warm feelings and the reminder that she was a pilot. A fighter pilot. A reckless but talented one. The blood on her skin and tank-top, which was expanding outward from a bullet wound in her lower shoulder, stirred up vengeful anger and concern for her welfare. Was she in pain? She must be in pain and he hated that idea. He looked down at his left hand and imagined it curling into a fist, saw it smashing into a face, _Steve’s_ face, over and over while he said, “ _I’m with you to the end of the line_.”

“It’s coming back,” he said weakly, a vicious headache forming behind his right eye. “It’s right there, but it’s coming in these weird bits and pieces.”

The girl, _Peyton_ , kissed his temple and said, “Take your time. I’ve got your six.”

A tidal wave of memories and emotions hit him at those words and suddenly, there were tears in his eyes and he was dragging Peyton into his lap and kissing her, clutching her to him in a way that utterly betrayed the fact that she was the only thing keeping him alive even as he gently probed her for injuries. “Are you okay? I can’t believe you fucking did that, you scared the shit out of me. Did that bullet go through?”

“I think it did and you scared the shit out of _me_ ,” she said, tears streaming freely down her face. “Holy fucking god. I thought I was going to lose you. I thought they were going to make you kill me and drag you right back to working for them.”

“I thought that too.” He found her exit wound, just as far from any organs or arteries as the entrance wound, and he squeezed her tighter. “You had my six, though. I was in pieces on the ground and you had my six. I love you so fucking much.”

“Well, you had mine when that idiot had a gun to my head and my dad had both of us when my ass almost got turned into Swiss cheese. When you love each other, you always have each other’s backs, it’s part of the deal.”

The hum of an engine, scratch that, several engines, rumbled through the air. Peyton’s eyes snapped to the southern horizon, watching for the inevitable. “Those are bomber planes. We are in such deep shit.”

“I have two RPGs and they don’t know your dad is in the tower. Let’s get the jump on them.” They stood as one and Peyton followed him at a run to his armory in the bed of the truck, where Bucky unlocked one of the large cases and withdrew an RPG and handed it to her.

“I never asked, but do I want to know how you got all of this?” Peyton asked as she loaded the RPG with calm hands.

Bucky smirked. “They belonged to Hydra. I destroyed the base they’d had me operating from in D.C. and looted it. My truck even belonged to one of them before I dumped it…I got the keys off a body when I was looking for cash, IDs and passwords.”

Peyton snorted and threw a machine gun strap over her head, swinging the weapon around to her back. “That should probably disturb me, but I really appreciate the thought of you stealing from Hydra and cracking some heads together. Ready?”

“Ready.”

They turned together, armed to the teeth, and fired two RPG rounds at the first two bombers. Both were direct hits and dropped the planes in masses of flame and twisted metal, scrambling the remaining planes and forcing them to break formation. Then, Peyton’s machine gun and Bucky’s 50 cal were at their shoulders and they were firing at the turbines, fuel tanks, and cockpits, none of their bullets finding a fatal flaw. Then, the new leaders of the squadron dropped bombs.

“Peyton!” Bucky shouted, dragging her back as fast as he could and tumbling behind a Hydra truck. The blasts reverberated in his ears, reminding him very vividly of the fucking trigger words, and the truck took a serious hit from one of them, rocking towards them hard enough to briefly make Bucky wonder if his arm could hold up a tank-grade SUV. It rocked back to all four wheels, though, and the blasts ebbed as the lead bombers flew on. The other planes in the squadron, though, had touched down by the sounds of things and he groaned and looked to Peyton, who was reloading her machine gun for good measure. He swung the 50 cal over his shoulder and switched to his AR 15. Before the fighters Hydra had dropped could create a formation, he and Peyton spun around the truck, guns blazing. Long-range shots from the guard tower dropped strays left and right as he and Peyton sprayed the swarm of fighters. When his last magazine ran dry, Bucky dropped his AR and started forward. “Focus on the strays and stay back.”

“Don’t you dare…”

He didn’t stick around to hear her protests, though, launching into the fray headlong, knives and fists at the ready. Hydra had apparently exhausted what remained of its specialized teams, at least the ones available at short notice, and had sent chattel who weren’t equipped for this in hopes of overwhelming them with numbers. It was sad and disgusting, but he knew that every one of these fighters had volunteered and believed in Hydra’s mission: order in place of freedom at any cost.

He deflected half a dozen bullets with his left arm and took half a dozen more to his Kevlar and minimally important breaks in his gear from panicked operatives who completely forwent the capture-not-kill order. It didn’t slow him. Not when these monsters had just tried to turn him into a machine again. Not with Peyton standing behind him and Rick in the tower with no backup.

A final turn left him standing over a guy he’d been about to punch that had acquired a bullet to the head instead. He took a much-needed breath before turning to face Peyton, who was lowering her gun. “You sentimental asshole,” she said, a crooked grin breaking out on her face. “You could have wasted those idiots before they used a single trigger word, but you choked when you saw me with a gun to my head.”

He could feel a blush creeping across his face and he rolled his eyes. “I knew I could free you, but then you’d try to help me fight and get hurt in the process. It was too many variables,” he said gruffly.

“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. I know how many of them I dropped and I only have _one_ bullet wound to show for it.” She moved closer, eyes moving over him critically. “You have…four? Is that a fifth or is that someone else’s blood?”

“Not sure. I’m trained not to feel pain until the battle’s done. Those bombers are going to come back.”

“And they might have figured out that we have someone in the tower.” Peyton hurried to reload their weapons starting with the RPGs and Bucky helped blindly with zero hesitation as he watched the skies. 

A single aircraft approaching caught his eye. “What the hell is that?”

Peyton looked up, following his gaze to the craft. Her frown deepened and she picked up her freshly-loaded RPG. “I didn’t think Hydra had the budget for quinjets.”

Bucky shook his head, watching the quinjet’s descent. “They don’t and this one doesn’t appear to have backup. Hold fire.” They finished reloading and stood ready, armed to the teeth, as the quinjet touched down right alongside the carnage. The ramp dropped and Bucky was ready to storm it when a massive man came barreling out instead. They both stopped just in time to avoid colliding and stood there, frozen.

“Holy shit,” Peyton breathed, her gun clattering to the pavement. “Thank fucking god.”

“Buck?” Steve asked, blue eyes beseeching. He was in his Captain America tactical gear, minus the helmet or hood or whatever it was these days. Maybe he’d realized that Bucky hadn’t recognized him on that helicarrier until his face was fully visible. “Do you know me?”

“Know you? I’ve never been so happy to see you in my life,” Bucky said, completely bypassing any anxieties or qualms he had about seeing his best friend again in the face of the crisis at hand. He grabbed Steve in a fierce hug and marveled at how, seventy years later, it felt exactly the way it did in his broken memories. He was instantly glad to have done it and he could feel in the way Steve’s entire body relaxed that he was just as relieved. “You may have just saved our asses. Any chance you have air support coming?”

Steve snorted and released him. “I wish. My go-to guys are grounded.” 

“Yeah, some asshole ripped Falcon’s wings apart,” a dry voice said. The redhead from the bridge, Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff, appeared at Steve’s side, sharp eyes darting everywhere, including taking stock of the dead Hydra agents bleeding all over the airstrip and raking over him to decide for herself whether he was an ally or an enemy. He’d earned that after putting a few bullets in her, and after the aforementioned grounding of Falcon. Nodding to the quinjet, she said, “I can fly this thing, but it’s just one craft against a whole lot of bullshit, we’d never get away. If I had backup or pilots, it looks like they’re using an airfield nearby that I’d love to raid before they scramble any more squadrons…”

Peyton cut her off as he’d known she would. “I’m a pilot and my dad is too. He’s holding the tower right now.”

Natasha looked mildly surprised, which was probably saying something. “Alright. We’ll pick him up on the way. You boys keep the action here until we get back.”

Peyton froze and looked to Bucky, sudden anxiety in her eyes. He gripped her wrist and said, “They don’t want to kill me or Steve, angel, and the triggers don’t work anymore. I’ll be here when you get back, but I need you to do your badass pilot thing.”

She snorted and reeled him in for a fierce kiss, all tongue and teeth. When she released him, they were both gasping. She started up the ramp immediately, eyes on him the whole way and her smirk widening with each step. “It’s not really something I _do…_ it comes naturally to me.”

“That’s my girl. Kick some ass. No Kulbits, please.”

“No Kulbits,” she agreed. “I’ll be too busy watching your six.”

That brought a smile to his face that she returned just before she disappeared into the quinjet with the Widow and he watched the ramp go up. As the quinjet rose into the air and sped off to pick up Rick, Steve turned his eyes to Bucky. “I feel like I missed a few things.”

“She’s an ex-fighter pilot who bought me a beer and decided she likes me for some unfathomable reason,” Bucky said. “Those bombers are about to come back around and they’re going to drop more fighters on their way out. When was the last time you fired an RPG?”

“1945. I have a feeling they work a little differently nowadays.”

“Not as differently as you’d think. You’ll catch on.” He handed Peyton’s RPG to Steve and nodded to the south, where the bombers were appearing on the horizon. “Here they come. We have to keep them from following the quinjet…if they shoot them down, we’re not only out a few very important people, we’re also going to very quickly get overrun.”

“No pressure,” Steve said drily. “This could be over in five minutes if Iron Man would answer his damn phone.”

Bucky snorted. “If Peyton and Rick get in the air, it will be over in five minutes anyway. Regardless of what shit Hydra left at that airfield, they can outfly any of these idiots. Game face, Rogers, here we go.”

The bombers swooped in, doors already opening for the gunners and the fighters to lean out and open fire on them. Bucky dropped the lead bomber with an RPG, sending the rest scrambling, and Steve downed one on the outside of the formation. Then, Bucky had his AR in his hands and was firing round after round into the exposed cargo areas of the planes, dropping fighter after fighter. Steve swung his shield, sending it directly into the right engine of one plane and whisking back to him as the plane dropped at an absurd angle and collided with the tarmac in a rush of flame. The fighters and gunners were firing back now, though, and dropping to the airstrip to rush them. “Stay on the bombers,” Steve said, launching forward to face off with the fighters despite the tide of bullets coming at them. Bucky rolled his eyes and imagined that he now knew how Peyton had felt about ten minutes ago. At least that shield was more useful against Hydra-issue rounds than his arm.

They made quick work of the team of fighters and managed to bring down another bomber before they swept away again, but once the airstrip was clear of all but them and bodies, Bucky took an inventory and realized that his right arm and left thigh were weaker from aggravating the bullet wounds in them, they were very quickly running out of ammo, and Steve was staggering and blood-stained. Steve was assessing him too and shook his head. “Buck, if they don’t get in the air, we’re fucked.”

“If they don’t get in the air, it’ll be because they’re dead and I’ll be fucked even if everyone Hydra instantly drops dead with them,” Bucky said tightly, voicing what he’d been trying not to think about since Peyton left his sight. Steve stared at him in surprise and he gritted his teeth and looked away, trying to lock everything down again.

“She’s that special?”

“Special enough that if we get out of this shitstorm, I’m going to marry her stubborn ass.” There was a hum rising in the air again and Bucky scrambled to reload as they watched the bombers appear on the horizon. They were hard to count in that formation at that distance, but there were definitely more of them and there was not a quinjet among them. Bucky’s heart sank into his gut and a burning ache expanded in his chest. “Fuck,” he hissed. “They sent more up. Either Peyton couldn’t take the airfield or there will be nothing left to fly when she gets there.”

“Natasha might have taken a bomber and left the quinjet,” Steve said anxiously. “They could still be in there.” They were almost within range, would be within seconds, and his heart was in his throat as he raised the RPG to his shoulder. “Buck…” Steve said softly.

He shook his head and steeled himself, saying grimly, “They’re not up there, Stevie. I am not going back to Hydra and I am not letting them take you too. They’ll do the exact same thing to you that they did to me.” He lined up the shot, and then…

Two planes suddenly peeled off from the formation and the one bringing up the rear of the convoy opened fire. The formation shattered and two bombers dropped immediately in broken balls of flame before the Hydra-flown planes scrambled and came after the three traitors. Bucky sagged in relief and it was Steve’s hand on his shoulder that kept him upright, but then the two bombers that had peeled away were spinning, engaging Hydra head-on while the third pulled back. Peyton and Rick were starting a dogfight. Golden shots of light followed bullets as the planes swirled around each other, the sound terrifying and horrible as he lost track of Rick and Peyton in the battle. Natasha was circling the fight, keeping it tight and dangerous while she engaged strays. One plane twisted upward out of the fray in retreat, three of Hydra’s pilots chasing it, then the engines cut out and it dropped backwards past them and into the center of the battle. “Fuck…” he hissed. But the plane stopped falling somewhere in the thick of the battle and one of the three that had followed it burst into flames. The planes below it scattered to avoid the wreckage, but one wasn’t fast enough and went down with it.

“This is insane,” Steve said in incredulity. Bucky could only nod in agreement, gripping his rifle like a lifeline and hating that they were moving far too fast for a decent shot from this distance.

One of the planes whipped out into a barrel-roll that looked like it should have been impossible in a plane that large. Bucky choked on nothing as missiles sped after it. When they were dangerously close to finding homes, the plane flipped backwards, the engines protesting, and flew upside-down past the missiles and down into the fray. “Holy fuck,” Bucky moaned. The barrel of his rifle whined and then shattered in his left hand and he dropped the destroyed weapon to pick up another, cursing himself out. A different plane whipped outward to avoid the dive and then the missiles were disappearing into explosions that were downing planes left and right. The pilot that he was sure was Peyton and that he was planning to throttle if they got out of this alive pulled out of the dive in time to miss the ground, but not much before and five planes followed in various states of distress to shatter on impact. The air reeked of burning jet fuel and molten metal and Bucky felt sick.

“I can’t believe those planes can handle that shit,” Steve said in amazement.

“Same,” Bucky said, grinding his teeth. “I told her no Kulbits and apparently she took that literally.” Steve looked to him in confusion, but Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off the battle, couldn’t even blink for fear that one of them would be hit and drop right before his eyes. “She once pulled a Kulbit, a nearly-impossible stunt maneuver, in a plane that had never been recorded doing it before. And she’s doing the same thing now.” A plane rolled sideways _over the top_ of another, avoiding collision by mere feet. “Jesus, fuck….” He brought his right fist to his mouth and bit down hard on the knuckles, wanting to scream. “God damn it, Peyton.”

Natasha was engaged again and no longer focusing on containment and strays as the battlefield thinned. Only the best three Hydra pilots were left, probably Air Force pilots themselves, and they were beginning to pull risky maneuvers of their own that were probably making the ground fighters and gunners on board violently ill.

The right engine of one of the planes he was sure was theirs ignited and the craft veered downward, spinning out as it went.

No.

No, no, no….

Halfway to the ground, the pilot used the spin to whip around and fire upwards, placing lethal hits on two of the remaining bombers. They began to fall too.

Their plane, Rick or Peyton, crash landed at the outer edge of the graveyard of planes, spinning and carving through the dirt. He took off running, still watching the fight overhead as Steve shouted and followed him. If any Hydra agents had survived their crashes, they’d be checking that plane and shooting anyone inside. If the fuel tank ignited, the plane would explode. Those were not acceptable outcomes.

There were three planes left in the air, then two as one peeled off to race towards the ground and land. It would be Natasha, checking the downed plane while either Peyton or Rick took on the last Hydra pilot alone.

He needed to run faster.

“Buck, you’re bleeding all over the place! Nat’s got them!”

He didn’t listen, didn’t care, because there were Hydra agents crawling out of some of those wrecks, bloodied and battered, but armed and angry. He raised his rifle and dropped them one-by-one as he ran, downing five before they started shooting back. When there was no one shooting back anymore, he looked to their plane and recognized Natasha fighting to get into the damaged craft. The pilot couldn’t get out. Or they were unconscious.

Or dead.

Above, the two planes danced back and forth, throwing loops and dives to escape each other’s fire.

They reached the downed plane, where Natasha was frantically prying at the side door to no avail. The plane was half-crushed and beat to hell, warping the door and the exterior around it. “He stopped responding on radio,” she said, still fighting the door as they reached her. Rick.

Peyton was still in the air.

While Steve tried to fight the door, Bucky bolted to the cockpit and leapt up onto the nose of the plane, barely sticking the landing. Rick was unconscious at best and bleeding from three bullet wounds in his chest. “Fuck.” One cybernetic hand through the windshield and he was in, dragging Rick out, struggling under his bulk to get him free. Steve appeared beside the plane and Bucky lowered Rick to him, then jumped off and helped Steve carry him at a run. “We need to get away from all this fuel. It’s going to go up any second.”

Above, engines whined. Bucky looked upward, instantly panicked again. Peyton had ripped her plane back end-over-end again in what resembled half of a Kulbit that he again couldn’t believe the plane could withstand…

…the engine stalled…

…the plane began to fall.

“Buck, we have to keep moving. There’s nothing you can do.”

“The fuel is igniting,” Natasha said, shoving him towards the edge of the airstrip. He followed their lead, unable to take his eyes off that plane falling faster and faster as the Hydra pilot followed it, firing. She wouldn’t even be able to bail out with him that close behind her.

The engines caught…

…Peyton pulled up…

…and the Hydra plane came down on her tail, sending both planes falling in a twisted mass of metal.

In that instant, he knew she couldn’t save her plane and he knew she’d done it on purpose, that she’d either run out of firepower or run out of fuel pulling those stunts and that she had decided she wasn’t going to let even one plane near him when she still had a card up her sleeve, a queen held until the very last hand.

Rick wasn’t draped over his shoulder anymore and he was on his knees, rifle on the pavement in front of him, powerless, watching as she fell, as her plane and the one that had collided with her burned.

A parachute.

He breathed a sigh of relief, tears in his eyes. And in that instant, her fuel tank caught and both planes burst into flames, the parachute disappearing from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you glad I waited to post this chapter until the next one was ready? Cliffhangers are a bitch. ;)


	13. I Never Want to Watch You Fly Again

He was screaming, he was pretty sure, but everything sounded like it was underwater. Even the explosions around them as fuel tanks lit up and those two planes hit the ground were nothing compared to the mayhem inside his head. He was watching those eyes as she passed him that first beer again, seeing in them that she might not know who he was, but she knew what he was and where he was going if she didn’t knock him off course, seeing in them that she knew exactly what it might cost her if she took that risk, seeing her decide to do it anyway in a split second like a fighter pilot was trained to do. Split seconds, that’s all she ever reserved for decisions, and she almost always took the riskier route because it was risky and unpredictable and brave and everything she was, everything she’d been raised to be. And now, she’d done it again, for perhaps the hundredth or thousandth time, and for the first time in all those hundreds of decisions, she’d bet too high. 

There were hands on him, but he didn’t know who they belonged to and didn’t care to find out. No one else existed, nothing else mattered but being sure. She’d been right those hundreds of times and despite what he’d seen, she could have somehow been right again. If she was alive somehow…if there was anything at all he could do to save her…he couldn’t live with missing that chance. He had to find her. He wrenched away from the hands and ran in a wide arc around the airstrip to avoid the fuel and wrecks, then sprinted towards the most recent wreckage, knowing that if she’d made it, she would have landed close by. She had to be there. It had to have been a mistake, a trick of the eyes. She’d been _behind_ the explosion, not _in_ it. She had to have been. But he couldn’t see the white of a parachute and he was scouring the ground all around looking for her body, alive or in pieces, and he was pretty damn sure he was going to find her in pieces and lose what was left of his fucking mind.

There.

She was in one piece but sprawled awkwardly on the ground, unconscious or dead, her parachute lines tangled around her and the parachute itself gone, burned away. He skidded to the ground at her side. Her left leg was badly broken, twisted more like, and her left forearm was too, probably the side she’d landed on. She’d been scorched, but not burned, her clothes melted to her body in places, telling him why she should have been in a flightsuit, but she wasn’t _burned._ There were ends of her hair that were singed and melted, but still there, and her lovely face was cut and bruised and soot-stained, but still there.

She’d landed without her parachute. She could still be dead from the impact.

He could barely see through tears and panic as he checked for a pulse. There. Her heart was beating. A cry of relief escaped him and he was cradling her face and kissing her forehead, holding her down even as he cherished her in case she woke up and they realized her spine was fractured or she was concussed. “Peyton. Peyton, baby, wake up. Come on, angel, it’s James. You in there, baby?”

For a horrible moment, he contemplated that she could be alive, but brain damaged, in a coma or something equally awful, but then her face tightened in pain or worry or something and she opened her eyes. “James?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m here.”

Her eyes raked over him. “You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding everywhere.”

“I’m okay, angel. Tell me what hurts…I need to know if you’re safe to move.”

“My head hurts, but my vision and hearing are normal so far. I landed mostly upright, I think.” She frowned. “My right fingers and toes work. What’s wrong with my left side?”

“It’s the side you landed on. Your leg and forearm are pretty badly broken.”

She cringed. “I hate broken bones.”

He couldn’t help snorting at that. “Then don’t pull kamikaze stunts like that and get your parachute burned up. Jesus.” Then, he was kissing her, probably smothering her, but too fucking relieved to stop. She gripped the back of his neck with her right hand, holding him down over her so she could kiss him back, sloppy and tired and relieved that there were both somehow alive. When they broke apart, they were both fighting for air against broken ribs and bullet holes. “You scared the shit out of me. I never want to watch you fly like that again.”

She scoffed at that, but then went rigid and looked up at him in panic. “My dad. Is my dad okay?”

“Steve and Natasha are with him. When I came to find you, he was unconscious and had a few bullet wounds, but he was alive.”

“Fuck. I told him to bail out, I fucking told him.”

“He’s going to be okay, baby. I have a feeling Steve’s going to make sure he has the best people around working on him.”

“You too,” she said, glaring mutinously at him. “You acquired more bullet holes while I was gone. What are you up to? Ten? Twelve?”

“No idea. I can’t feel them. Too much adrenaline.”

The sound of panting and running footsteps approached them, then Steve’s very displeased voice said, “I counted nine, but that was before he took on everyone left in the downed planes by himself.”

Peyton growled and it was so her and so sexy that it hurt. “I’d punch you if I wasn’t afraid of hitting one of them.”

“Punch him in the face,” Steve suggested, coming up on his right with one hand on a bullet wound of his own in his lower chest, probably what had him wheezing. “Might knock some sense into him.”

He gave Steve a withering look. “You’re one to talk. Punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Children,” Peyton cut in. “I need to see my dad and any minute, my brain’s going to be done blocking the pain in my leg and arm.”

“Your dad’s okay,” Steve said. “He’s awake now, but he’s going to need surgery. I have a team on the way to patch everybody up.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. “Iron Man returned your call?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Right after you took off running. Better late than never.”

Peyton lit up at that. “Seriously? Is he coming himself?”

Steve smirked. “You’re an Iron Man fan?”

Now, she rolled her eyes. “Obviously. He’s a genius with physics and mechanics. Did you know he builds those suits by hand himself?”

While Steve groaned and mumbled something about egomaniacs, Bucky smirked and kissed Peyton’s forehead again. “Baby, I think after the number of Hydra planes you just took down, he’s going to be a fan of _you._ ”

\--------------------

Bucky was right about Steve’s commitment to their medical care. Stark sent a medevac to them and had some of the best medical personnel in the country working on them on the unnaturally short flight to Avengers Tower in New York, which, fittingly, had one of the best emergency facilities on the Eastern Seaboard. It was also, critically, the only medical facility in the world Steve trusted. All of this made it so that on the flight there, with Peyton’s right hand tightly gripped in his and his left hand crushing the edge of the metal table he was sitting on, Bucky was allowing two people in medical uniforms and masks to pry bullets out of him, stitch wounds, and set bones he hadn’t realized he’d broken. He’d flat-out refused anything in the form of a needle and Steve had looked like he’d been about to cry at that, but the medical people didn’t make a fuss and Peyton still just held his hand and glared at anyone beyond his peripheral vision. She was literally in pieces, they were unable to determine just how many pieces while in flight, concussed, and in immense pain, and she was still watching his six. He did the same and apparently what Peyton called his ‘murder face’ was scary enough that before long no one was even bothering to walk behind Peyton and risk his wrath. 

During the flight, Rick kept up a near constant stream of obscenities while the medical team did emergency work on him, mostly directed at Peyton. Apparently the twelve or so riskiest maneuvers of the dogfight had all been Peyton’s and Rick was livid that she would try them in ‘a fucking piece of shit stone-age fucking Hydra bomber, for fuck’s sake.’ Bucky let him do the talking and just glared at Peyton, who glared right back until she finally shouted at her dad to shut up and to Bucky said, “Natasha got us on our own radio frequency, but we were also listening to Hydra. One of those planes had the backup team we were expecting with the trigger words. I didn’t know if there were other triggers you didn’t tell me about or don’t know about and I wasn’t going to find out the hard way.”

“They were in that last plane, weren’t they?” he asked hoarsely. The medevac was landing, but he couldn’t care less right then.

Peyton nodded, her eyes like blades. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Every time we brought one down, I hoped that it was the right one, but then a minute later someone would say that they had to get the _asset extraction team_ on the ground. I swore they wouldn’t take you back while I drew breath and I meant it.”

There were fucking tears in his eyes again and he couldn’t be bothered to hide them, he just held her hand tighter. Finally, he said, “I still never want to see you fly like that again.”

“How about in a Stark plane?”

They looked to where the medevac ramp had opened. Tony Stark was shoving aside medical personnel, patting Steve on the shoulder without a glance, and hurrying towards them. Peyton’s jaw was on the floor. Stark’s eyes darted over Peyton’s injuries to her arm and leg, which the medical personnel had cut away part of her jeans to reveal. “I can fix that,” he said without a hint of doubt. “It’s definitely shattered, but I can fix that. And I’m putting you in a Stark plane in…one month. That cool with you? It’s cool, right?”

Peyton looked like a kid on Christmas, but Bucky gave her a look that said _cool your jets_ and aloud said, “Bones don’t mend that quickly. I don’t doubt you can get her in the air again, but a _month_?”

Stark shrugged, looking to him with a suddenly disgusted look. “Some of us have better technology than _Hydra’s_ medical department. What’d they do, put you in cryo? You’ve aged better than Steve.”

He clammed up and just like that, Peyton’s moment of being starstruck evaporated. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t talk to him like that,” she snapped at Stark, making the billionaire flinch in surprise at her ferocity. “He’s been through hell. If he wanted to tell you, he’d tell you. Otherwise, don’t ask.”

“Easy, Maverick. Can’t blame a guy for being curious.”

She raised an eyebrow at that and, in a dangerous voice, said, “You tell him what happened in Afghanistan and he’ll tell you what happened with Hydra. Now where’s your curiosity?”

Stark’s face had gone pale, but he bounced right back with, “What curiosity? Let’s get you off this thing…we’ve got bones to fix.”

Three hours later, Bucky was standing outside the OR Peyton was in, watching through a window as they worked on her shattered leg. Voices approached and he turned to see that they belonged to Stark and Steve, who looked pale and was in sweats and a t-shirt too tight to hide any of his bandages well. When they saw Bucky, they both looked him up and down. He was still in his tact suit, minus the parts that had been cut away on the medevac to pull bullets out, and had done no more cleaning up than the medevac team had done on him mid-flight. He was pretty sure there was blood caked in his hair at the least and he smelled like a slaughterhouse, but he just didn’t give a damn. “Buck. Why aren’t you in surgery?”

He snorted derisively and turned his attention back to the OR. “I haven’t had surgery since they put this arm on me. I’m fine, not even bleeding anymore.”

“Jesus,” Stark hissed. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence during which Bucky prayed they’d just continue on their way, but apparently they’d been coming to check on Peyton because they came up beside him instead. “How’s she doing?”

Well, at least they weren’t going to push him to get medical treatment or clean up. He wasn’t leaving Peyton for something that stupid, especially when she was unconscious for fuck’s sake. He’d been mission-oriented as the Winter Soldier and he was glad to be rid of that with the exception of watching her six. That was the only mission now, always would be, and it was far more important than any mission he’d ever had before. “She’s fine. They just installed your Bone-Builders, whatever the hell they are.”

“They are _awesome_. They go directly around the bone and they’re going to keep everything where it’s supposed to be so it heals easier and cleaner and by a month from now, they’ll be dissolving into her bloodstream, no trace, totally harmless.”

“Where was that after New York?” Steve grumbled. “Do you know how many times I had to rebreak that finger to make it heal right? That serum isn’t always a good thing.”

“New York is _why_ the Bone-Builders exist, Capsicle. Banner suggested we come up with something like that after you rebroke that goddamn finger in front of him. He said it was the first time he’d lost his lunch in years and Bruce works with sick people in underdeveloped countries.” In the faint reflection on the window, Bucky watched Stark turn his attention to him. “Sorry about earlier…Barnes. What I said was…out of line.”

Steve sent a glare at Stark that could’ve burned a hole in him. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you apologize for something. What the hell did you say?”

“He asked if I’d been in cryo,” Bucky cut in, the words coming out through gritted teeth. “Which I have. They put me under between missions to keep me from aging and to keep the conditioning in place. And you were right about their medical capabilities, Stark. They never used anything on me more advanced than the chair and that was last updated in the 70’s.”

Silence. Silence as heavy and as absolute as a corpse. Even in the muted reflection, Bucky could tell Steve was very close to vomiting or hugging Bucky or killing someone or all of the above. Stark was as white as a sheet. “When you say _chair_ ,” Stark said uneasily, “I’m picturing the schematics for a forties-era prototype called a _mental recalibration chair_. My father hired half a hundred lawyers to make sure that got shut down and stayed shut down. There’s never been one built.”

“When it comes to Hydra, ’shut down’ just means that it’s hidden in the basement somewhere. It was exactly what you’re picturing and they had a working model by 1946.”

Steve’s face was buried in his hand and his muscles were like stone trying to hold him in place. His free hand was visibly shaking. “Christ, Buck. I wanted to go back for you. I tried…”

Bucky turned to look at Steve then, hearing in his mind Peyton’s broken story about Ollie being captured that she’d told him a lifetime ago and her story about the original Blizzard who’d fought the SR to lead a mission to find him. “We were told that our missions were classified and that officially, we’d never been there. They weren’t going to send you back to a place you’d never been to dig a corpse out of the snow. It’s not your fault, Steve.”

Steve was crying into his hands, then, and Bucky knew that he should hug him or at least put a hand on his shoulder, but all the talk of Hydra had him feeling hollow and cold. He realized that Stark’s eyes were locked on him and there was so much going on behind them that Bucky remembered Peyton’s threat about Afghanistan and then what she’d said when she first met Bucky. _I saw a POW._ When he stood frozen there, looking helplessly to Steve, then back to Stark, Stark, still holding his gaze, put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve just barely leaned into him and Bucky felt himself thaw just a bit. He took a deep breath, looked to Stark again, who nodded, then Bucky put his human hand on Steve’s other shoulder. “Hey pal,” he said hoarsely. “Thanks for being with me in D.C. You got me out.”

Steve met his gaze then, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, and put a hand over his, not asking for more, just holding him in place. “To the end of the line.”

“To the end of the line.”


	14. Epilogue: Good Thing We Both Have Competence Kinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I PUBLISHED SEVERAL CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY. GO BACK TO CHAPTER 11: NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY TO AVOID MISSING THINGS.

One month later, Bucky was watching from the tarmac at the Avengers Compound as above him, Peyton and Rick chased each other through the sky in Stark prototype fighter jets. When she pulled a Kulbit successfully, he smirked and rolled his eyes. 

Tony was standing beside him, one of his suits on standby a few feet away in case he needed to intervene, a precaution suggested by Bucky, not him. Tony chuckled watching the show and said, “That girl does not belong in a garage.”

“She was dishonorably discharged,” Bucky reminded him. “She’ll never get paid to fly again.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at that. “I don’t know about that.”

The words spoken felt like being drenched in ice water. Wide awake, Bucky turned on Tony. “Don’t you dare. I don’t want to watch her get shot at anymore. If you make her an offer, she’ll take it. I don’t care how much you spend on a plane for her, she’s not working for you or the Avengers.”

Tony shut his eyes as if preparing to say something painful, then said, “Hydra isn’t gone. You know it’s not, she knows it’s not, if you think she’s going to go back to Indiana and disappear into her dad’s garage after all of this, you’re wrong. I know you don’t want to fight, Barnes, you’ve made that clear. But until Hydra is gone, really gone, they’re going to keep coming for you and you’re going to have to keep fighting them over and over anyway.”

He looked back up and watched Peyton, marked by a white tail, roll over Rick, who was marked with a red tail. Tony was right, as much as he hated it. He sighed in defeat and said, “There’s always another fight.”

Tony shrugged as Peyton fell into a dive and pulled up dangerously close to the tarmac. “Yeah. But you’ve got a woman with bigger balls than any of us watching your six.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What was her call sign?”

He smirked. “There’s a story. She’s a fourth-generation fighter pilot and they never served at the same time, so when the new generation got their orders, they got the family’s call sign as a blessing.”

“Nice. Tell me.”

“Her great-grandfather Leon picked it up running recon missions over Nazi territory. There was one mission that he flew into a blizzard…it should’ve killed him and it did kill his engine, but he bailed out despite whiteout conditions and landed thirty miles inside Nazi Germany.”

“Jesus. What did he do?”

Bucky grinned. “He walked the rest of the way to the base he was reconning. Turns out it belonged to Hydra and from their war room, he sent a telegram to the SR that contained Arnim Zola’s travel itinerary through the Austrian Alps.” He looked meaningfully to Tony, whose eyes were huge. “The call sign is ‘Blizzard.’”

Tony laughed once in amazement. “Winter Soldier and Blizzard. That’s insane.”

Bucky shrugged and turned to watch Peyton and Rick land. The Stark jets could land on a dime when they needed to thanks to the repulsor technology Stark had included in the design. As the cockpits opened, Peyton stood up, took off her helmet to shake out her blond hair, then looked right at Bucky with a huge grin. “Maybe it makes perfect sense,” he said to Stark. “Make her the offer. Later.”

Tony chuckled knowingly as Bucky walked towards the jets, catching Peyton as she launched herself into his arms. He spun her around as she laughed, then sat her on his left arm and began walking her towards the compound, working tangles out of her hair as they went. “You are such a show-off,” she said, lightly punching the metal arm.

“You pulled a fucking Kulbit in a plane that wasn’t cleared for it. _Again_. I think we know who the real show-off is here.”

In his ear, she murmured, “Take me to bed and I’ll show off how many times I can make you come, kitten.”

He rolled his eyes, but that did nothing to dissuade his very interested cock. They were in the hangar now and heading towards the corridor that would lead to their quarters. “Shower first. You smell like sweat and jet fuel.”

“I bet you like that, though.”

He did, actually. Maybe it was a competency kink, that sensory reminder that she was a powerhouse in a cockpit. And he couldn’t help remembering the fantastic dreams he’d had that involved Peyton being naked under a flightsuit. She knew about those dreams…was she naked under _this_ flightsuit? To distract himself from that line of thought, he asked, “Are you always this horny after flying? That must have been inconvenient in the Air Force. Or are there are some pilots out there I’ll need the names and social security numbers of?”

“They were crewmen, actually,” Peyton said, lips pursed in mock thoughtfulness. “I love being a pilot and I love having friends and family who are pilots, but I could never sleep with one.”

“Good point. They’re total control freaks.”

“Hey! You didn’t see me complaining that time you brought your knives out…”

That wrenched a groan right out of him and he kissed her roughly, walking just a little faster as they passed through the automatic security doors dividing the hangar from the interior of the compound. He’d been wary of knifeplay out of a lack of trust in himself, but Peyton got such a kick out of watching him handle weapons that when she’d suggested it last week, he couldn’t tell her ‘no.’ He was very glad he’d agreed. “Repeat performance, kitten?”

“Definitely.” Peyton grinned impishly. “By the way, you’ll never guess what I’m wearing under this flightsuit.”

Still very nearly running, Bucky used his free hand to unzip her flightsuit to her navel. Bare skin greeted him, bare skin, their dogtags clinking together with each step, and the flash of her piercing. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, suddenly certain that they weren’t going to make it to their quarters. He looked around them and veered off course into an equipment room full of flightsuits, tact suits, ammo, and tools. There was a workbench along the back wall and the moment he had the door locked, he was setting Peyton on that bench and struggling to get her out of that flightsuit while she sucked his brain out through his tongue. When he got the flightsuit down to her waist, he dropped his head to kiss her gorgeous breasts, which did smell and taste faintly of sweat and jet fuel like the rest of her. And yeah, he liked it. Peyton wound her fingers into his hair and tugged softly. “Look at me.”

He met her eyes, molten green, pupils black and wide. A crooked smile was on her face, but then she pursed her lips and said softly, “I’ve got your six, James.”

“And I’ve got yours, angel,” he answered hoarsely. 

In the next moment, Peyton unsheathed one of his knifes and flipped it over her flingers a few times, just to tease him. Then, she offered him the knife. “We happen to be somewhere I can acquire a replacement flightsuit, so…”

He donned a crooked grin that mirrored hers and accepted the knife, twirling it a few times so he could watch her squirm. Then, he just barely laid the flat of the knife against her lower abdomen. Peyton gasped softly, eyes locked on the knife. “You know,” he said slowly. “This is some heavy-duty material. It’s a good thing this knife is really fucking sharp.” Peyton shivered and he slowly drew the knife down, slid it under the flightsuit, and twisted it enough to slice up through the material at just the right angle so the other edge of the blade slid along the outside curve of her thigh. Peyton whimpered and her fingers dug deep into his shoulders, eyes still locked on his hand grasping that knife, still molten. He never would have expected to trust himself with something like this before, but it was so much easier to trust himself when Peyton trusted him so implicitly. At her knee, he let the knife slice out of the flightsuit and free, exposing her upper leg. He hadn’t left a scratch on her skin. He moved the knife to his left hand and slid his right up her thigh and between her legs. She whimpered again and he groaned as he slid his fingers through her wetness. She was hot and dripping with need. “Fuck, angel.” He dropped the knife on the workbench beside her and tugged her to the edge of the bench with his left hand, legs wrapped around his hips. He lost himself kissing her and listening to her whimper and moan as he buried his fingers in her, skipping right to two because she could take it, then almost immediately to three to make her scream and rock into him wantonly like he loved to make her do. “Need you,” she groaned against his mouth. “James, I need you now.”

“Disarm me first,” he said teasingly.

“I can’t reach the gun or the knife in your boot, kitten, and I’m not moving from this spot.” Peyton blindly removed the handgun and two knifes hidden around his waist and laid them next to the first knife. “Fuck me.”

It took only a second to undo his belt and jeans while she pushed the ruined flightsuit just a bit farther down, then he was buried in her and kissing her and swallowing her screams when he hit just the right spots as he moved inside her. And just as it had that first time and every time since then, it felt like he was home. Here in an equipment closet with one hand tangled in a flightsuit still pooled around her waist, with the smell of sweat and jet fuel in his lungs, with weapons helter-skelter around them, he was home, physically connected to the woman he loved and trusted more than anything.

Peyton suddenly gripped his left wrist with one hand. “Please,” she whimpered into his mouth. He grinned in fond disbelief and brought his metal hand down between them to tease her. Instantly, her body went rigid and her mouth opened wide and he buried his face in her neck as she came and took him with her. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Oh fuck, please don’t stop.” He obeyed and thrusted harder, overcome by all that intense feeling and all that stimulation sparking up his spine and reflecting stars in his eyes.

When they finally fell still, panting and clutching at each other, Peyton kissed his temple and mumbled, “If this is what we’re going to do every time I walk off a tarmac, I need to fly more often.”

Bucky snorted at that, but, unlike when the idea was first presented to him, this time it made him smile. “That might be more doable than you think.”

“I’m just testing out the new Stark planes for Tony. It’s not permanent.”

Bucky met her gaze and raised an eyebrow at her. “He thinks it could be.”

Peyton’s eyes went wide and she was momentarily speechless, lips moving, trying to decide which words to voice. Finally, she said, “You don’t want to fight anymore and you shouldn’t have to. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest again and he kissed her cheek and whispered, “I love you so damn much. And I don’t want to fight anymore, but Hydra isn’t gone. Stark thinks we should take the fight to them.”

Peyton’s jaw hardened and she nodded. She wound her fingers into his metal ones and squeezed his hand. “There’s nothing in the world I would rather do than fight by your side against the monsters who hurt you. You know that.”

“You’d have to watch me fight and I’d have to watch you fly,” he pointed out, voice tight with discomfort at the thought.

Peyton smirked. “Good thing we both have competency kinks. When we’re not kicking ass, we can fuck in equipment closets.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She laughed and kissed him once, then whispered, “No. I’m going to watch your six. You’re mine, James, and I’m yours, and together, we are going to fuck Hydra straight to hell.”

\---END PART ONE---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peyton and Bucky will return in a sequel as Avengers. Said sequel is already in the works and will begin posting soon. Expect smut, snark, boatloads of action, and possibly the sort of wedding you’d expect from a couple who would trade dogtags in place of rings.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, Kudos, and support throughout this work!! This is my first completed multi-chapter fic on AO3 and I am so proud of it. Please make sure to subscribe so you get an email when I start posting the sequel. Love, Lenore <3


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